Hoy pareciera que el silencio es insuficiente para decir lo que quiero callar.
Creo que es por la lluvia, que cae ruidosa sobre un techo viejo y me hace recordar que nunca estuvo tan mal. Me dan risa las nimias cosas de siempre. Y me voy quedando sin palabras en un cerebro con más ruido.
Hoy no sé si me importa tu simpleza.
Por eso, mejor me voy a la cama con el corazón solo.
Fragmento
I only have one photograph of him left. I took it when he came to our house in one of his striking, commonly nocturnal, never-expected visits. The photograph is a portrait of a young man in decadence who had been living beyond the line for more than a long time.
He was no longer that joyful, peaceful boy that all of us used to know so well. His strange manners and compulsive movements, combined with his thinness, gave him a repulsive appearance that was not bearable for long. He looked like a walking bag of bones, and his long hair partially covered his cheekbones, which stuck out giving to his face the look of a skull just covered by skin. He seemed like a puppet of a skeleton that moved because of the action of a strange force…lifeless.
All of his body looked lifeless but his eyes… His eyes were strangely deep. They were black and deep as the universe, full of energy that hypnotized and frightened. One could see through his eyes. At some point, he stared at me and laughed and talked like a maniac. I stared at him too while wondering how this could have happened. I was mesmerized by the image, and then I took the photograph.
He left soon that night, and it was the last time we talked. Sometimes, I look at the photograph and wonder if I could have helped him, but I knew he would never come back. He always said that he wanted to be free.
Me pregunta cómo estoy y le respondo lo mismo: “Esperando que el tiempo pase”.
Mientras tanto afuera se van volviendo rojas las hojas.
¿De qué vale la espera?
Si al final las hojas caerán, inertes.
What does one write on a Monday? Cuando la lluvia cae y nunca amanece. Cuando es un lunes como cualquier otro.
What do you say to Mondays? Cuando la semana se abre en el horizonte y la esperanza disminuye.
What do you do on Monday? Cuando no ha cambiado nada. Y te sigo esperando.
Today. Monday. Lunes. What can I tell you? Cuando siempre te guardo en la memoria.
Loneliness makes you think sad things. Y quién soy yo para decirle que se calle.
MALDITAS PALABRAS POÉTICAS 