Poetry

From the tree perspective 
The humans were dauntingly free with feet in the place of roots
And little children grew up very similar to how their flowers evolve into fruits
And although not possessing the bucolic static of the trees,
Humans seemed doomed to pass away in the same place they held their first breath
Going through their existence anguishing about the short length of life and their impending death.
There is in the heart of the trees a profound yearning for each other
Resembling a fulfilling adoration between someone and their lover;
Or also similar to the devotion of a proud son to an aging father,
Who can not seem to see the slow but steady changing of the seasons
And is still mourning the cruel loss of a partner
And as they silently watch the sun go down, both filled with grief
The tree thought to itself how not long ago the father was also a child who climbed its branches,
And for a second, just a second, the tree agreed that life is brief.


There are choices in the virtue and beauty in the vices
It's the heart of human condition and the esteem behind its kindness
My voice uneasy, reminds my loved ones:
No sole soul is alone in bliss or blossom,
There is perseverance in trying and love in the undying patience we have for ourselves,
Paradoxically, defiance can be trust,
Thus, nothing can ever extinguish the hearts of rebels.
In worrying about roaming without destination or doing it alone, 
We forget that the ones we love will bury us to sleep when the time comes,
And if we are fortunate, it will be peaceful as a child being sang to sleep
With tender last words, and a longing goodbye glance 
There is peace in the future and tenderness in the unknown, 
Furthermore, never the sea, the moon, or the sun, will let you walk this world alone.
Imagining if the moon shrinked itself into the size of a wrinkled piece of
paper
Ready to unfold as an empty temple deprived of prayers
Cursing its own hands as the moon's jailer
Downside of a green lake with no reflection anymore
Where someone was mistakenly called a betrayer
For having unrequited love for a forsaken religion
Fearful of god as if he owned him a favor
Blinded with shame, regret and inhibition
Equating moral failure to a strange kind of prison
Signing his wisdom as unappreciated labour.

Being there tasted like regret but not as much if I hadn’t gone,
Similar as starting a day waiting for the dawn
Watering flowers upside down,
Hoping for archaic truths to grow 
Forgetting that nature is cyclical but growth is steady and slow.
Someone screamed about the absence of need for metaphors,
I interpreted it as disrespecting the gracefulness of words
Undermining the existence of secondary, but equally necessary, platonic worlds
Made of the dressing of expressions with beauty and meaning 
To undress them with a sensuality present only in the act of lingering


The pillars of reason rise alone without ever being accounted for
Similar to how those who plant seeds won’t see their forests bloom,
As mothers raise children they will never see fully grown,
I pave roads to places that will forever remain unknown,
Gazing uninterruptedly at life until concepts start rearranging themselves into some sort of meaning that resonates with me,
And to this day I don't know if that imprisons or if it sets free.
Nevertheless, I'm still the person I used to be:
The one who invented her own gods and felt like part of the sea.
How can we be sure if we left the womb?
If every beam of morning light feels like the first one to ever cross my eyes
And there are not enough languages to answer the whys,
No matter how many Babel towers we assemble with heresy-tainted stone
Chiselling the reasoning to forge the expected outcome,
Letting the free-will rust and the mind aching and sore.
Therefore, I refuse to overcategorize emotional matters anymore,
I used to not be able to fathom growth unless it was a conscious choice of mine,
Now I see that change is constant and everlasting,
And what doesn't evolve is doomed to drown, curl up and die
Perhaps these are thoughts I should not entertain, and maybe the answer is that things change just by staying the same.
Give it everything to a sister of thought
Worshipped the roof she was born under
Heard her drown old sorrows
And eventually went home with a prophesied goodbye
Left knowing one more greeting to the moon,
How she was the last one to see you cry,
Back when you whispered her secrets in your childhood bedroom
An entity so close to the stars but distant from you,
The tangible part of a complex thought that will never become whole.
Now we watch tv in the street through the windows of strangers
Because we both knew no one was home waiting for you,
It drove you to a state of disbelief
Opposite to your long-held euphoric delight in life
Anachronistic points of view,
Always correct for a small instance in time
No sentences to describe a well-fitting presence,
Full of deep-held imaginariums that your soul falls through
The breaking of an illusion as the hardest violence
Under the surface well rationalised sensibility
Perhaps an absence holds in itself all answers,
But you know there are only stars for those who look up
And the moon only shows itself to the dancers.
All cards are on the table for someone like you,
Habits ancient like trees with profound roots, hard to undo
From forbidden to thrilling to unwilling
I have a somber feeling that I'm no longer soul and mind
I start to despise those unwilling and all things unfulfilling
Throw it all away because you're one-of-a-kind
We always fly to opposite directions but at the same time
I shiver from affection because we always are aligned
Are there cries of tenderness like there are rivers that flow to the clouds?
I rush through them all and learn the word intertwined
We stay silent watching the morning sun while we mourn this lifetime.
The necessary would fit in a trip to the center of my being
The departure would have to be in the middle of an itinerary in the mountains of the villages that surround us
However, there is no time.
I told who welcomed me that it's no use running against the tide
But when closing my eyes I get back a satellite piece of my childhood
Something that is found only in the freedom of the movements of children
The state in which the river flows instead of how it should
I always knew that our purest identity hides in the smile of sunny days of past summers
Water heavy in salt and the unknowing of sporadicity
There is little else earthly divine that the communitary nature that we find in daily domesticity



Delicate magnolia boy
Delicate boy, You can’t reach nothing, 
Things touch you but you can’t hold them
It is your curse to slither through colours without belonging to one 
Can you feel the heat of your desire for freedom?
It lingers from the ground you walk until your fingertips 
Love will be malleable and slip through your lips 
You will dance to release yourself and you will find inner liberation 
You will create gestures to trace the sky’s limit
You will name it the Sun and chase it
He will name you Magnolia and you will always answer his call
And you will never remember how you once felt so small

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