Divine Mother, majestic land in which we are all born,
forget our karma,
sparkles of radiant lives,
you, divine light brighter than the sun,
golden water.
Where the petals open our spring,
rise from the end of the black age.
Magnify the heart,
amplify love,
becomes birth again.
Mother of us all,
blue flame of the sky,
defeat the color of Death.
Open your roses,
stretch out your hands,
scatter your heart inside the branches,
fruit be given to each weary breath.
Lady of the golden earth
walk with your feet
over the terrible devils and kill them all.


I feel a little sad this evening because I realize that I am a little creature in the face of things we have always struggled with: time, death, love, destiny, life in general, injustices, evil, suffering etc. etc. I feel a little crying because I know that this life is as beautiful as it is sad and we have so little time that sometimes we waste it without realizing it. We could say that we really love that person who has been around us for a long time, we could help that someone because more unfortunate than us without being overwhelmed by arrogance and selfishness, we could decide for once to improve someone’s life because (yes never knows) that that person hasn’t been smiled in a long time. We could teach someone to walk on their own legs, even if they need a little nudge at first, we could just hug each other a little bit more without adding a word too much, because the power of a warm hug is often underestimated. We could do many things that we don’t do, but still remain in the memory of those who have us, each in their own small way, loved until the end. Each of us, as can.


I have read and heard that some friends and acquaintances also organize online prayer and meditation groups for this difficult time. They are good if that can make them feel better. I have personally stopped praying in public since I left the Catholic Church. For me, prayer is an intimate relationship with a harmony that has no face, voice, location or figuration whatsoever; it is an opening to the transcendent that can only be expressed with interior silence. The prayers that the religious have taught us and are read in every mysticism, serve to create that atmosphere that makes us feel the sense of the transcendent beyond any philosophy taught. I believe that even today they can serve to understand that beyond the didactic dictates, there is the voice of the heart and the strength of the feeling that is stimulated by the poetry of the words, if we know how to listen to them and if we find them in ourselves. Thus praying becomes simple and doing it in a group is possible only if the harmony between people manages to create that mystical inspiration that prayers suggest. What their purpose is is indicated by the feeling that can express them, certainly not by the mind that wishes.


If only I could walk
between the chiaroscuro of your irises,
light up my days
with the lights of your every memory,
if only I had the key
of that French garden
which makes the contours of your face
guiding breath for each completed painting;
if only i could stay there,
stop, hold out your hand,
waiting for your name,
your veins like purple wisteria,
your skin like peony petals,
and listen to the rhythm of your beats outside the heart,
touch the shores of the lake
and make them tremble
in the reflection of the other shore where I wait for you to blossom and we are alone on a branch of blue star flowers. 


An innocence stained by a dark past. I can still hear the devil whispering wicked advice into my ear. My heart gradually became corrupted until it became a black hole. All that remains of me is a ravenous monster, haunted by a visceral desire to harm someone. The stomach quivers, eager to taste the taste of blood. The hands tremble with a knife, while gently brushing the delicate skin with the sharp blade, fully enjoying every moment. The cries of pain are music to my ears; an intoxicating melody that inhibits the senses. It is an iniquitous and malicious gesture, the fruit of a mind devoid of sense and a soul infected by the evil one. It takes little to shatter such fragile bones. With one creak after another I reduce you to dust, a putrid mass of dreams and hopes shattered under the weight of my shoes. There are those who would hope for a faster death, but you beg for torment; the more harm I inflict on you the more you ask for and I gladly grant you an atrocious end, because it wouldn’t be fun if you finished too quickly. Ah, the harm I could do to you if I only wanted to. In this sensitive and naive world it is so easy to break such a delicate heart. But the part of you that is dying is only your innocence, because soon you will become like me: a vicious creature, stirred up by a blind rage to bring about extermination and desolation. How sweet is the taste of death on my lips, it is a kiss of Judas what I give you. I reach you with the promise of a love, but the gift you will get will be only that of regret.


You counted a hundred thousand steps to get nowhere, you thought numbers were important, but the only thing that matters is not knowing where you are going. Sometimes you want to feel part of something, part of someone, other times you like being alone, feeling too much, on the other hand the world is a giant shoe but with the wrong size. You may turn around just to feel the taste of nausea, until you throw up the bundle of reality and admit that you are a dreamer and can’t sit still. They say that beautiful things do not last long, and how to blame them? if a rainbow lasted more than a quarter of an hour who the fuck would look at it anymore ?. You think it’s convenient to delude yourself, and think that things will never change, but every season the skin peels off and the only thing you can do is keep crawling. We hate being habitual, because habits start slowly and long before you realize you have a habit, it is the habit that has you.


Todo iba mal, pero estaba sentado a tu lado en tu coche de nuevo. Y decidiste besarme, pero no como siempre. Nunca antes me habías besado como si realmente sintieras algo, me apretaste, me saboreaste, me mordiste los labios. Nunca te había visto así, te sentí más mía que de costumbre, que incluso mientras me follabas me sentía más libre, como si realmente fueras mía, mis manos iban por todos lados, te tocaba y besaba cada centímetro de piel, yo Probé cada beso, lo encajé dentro de mí, sigo pensando “él no te quiere y no sabe por qué lo hace”, pero continuaste, seguiste besándome como nunca lo hiciste, seguiste abrazándome, déjame Pasé tus manos por tu cabello ahora demasiado largo, y abracé tu espalda y hombros que amo tanto, y seguiste en mis labios. Me mordiste con cariño, besaste mis caderas y mi corazón esta noche, yo solo era tuyo y tú solo mío. Mientras nuestras respiraciones empañaban las ventanas, entre el placer y las manos por todos lados, esta noche hice el amor contigo, te sentí mía, cada vez más, con cada beso, cada caricia, cada mirada. Arrastrarse en mi piel, tus dientes todavía están pegados en mis labios, ¿por qué haces esto? Pero aún así abrázame así, vuelve a besarme así, vuelve a decirme que soy bonita después de haber hecho la voz de un niño apretando mis mejillas, hazlo de nuevo por favor. Enamórate de mí por favor, deja que todo esto se atasque dentro de ti, porque llevo demasiado tiempo ahí, porque tus besos son los únicos que quiero, porque ahora he caído en este juego fatal, tanto es así que si me perderte ya no me encuentro. Si todavía no en un lugar, en una cierta risa, en un recuerdo, en una broma estúpida, en una canción, en ti, que me has tomado por mucho tiempo. Bésame toda mi vida.
lo que hay en mi polla en invierno es la preparación para salir, porque en verano solo hay que comprobar si tienes la ropa interior y ya es suficiente mientras ahora los calcetines, sí los hay, las medias, sí las hay, las pantalones, si hay, la camiseta, ahí, la remera de salud, ahí, la remera con algo gracioso y opaco para que no se le vean las dos capas de abajo, sí, el jersey, ahí está, el jersey abotonado eso agrega ese tono de profesor, ahí está, la chaqueta pesada, ahí, el pañuelo ajustado que se ahoga, ahí, el gorro y los guantes, ahí están, las botas están ahí, ahí me conecto y ya casi estoy lista pero todas estas protecciones del frio no hay nada, voy a salir y sufrir, lo sé, haría falta algo más todavía, una capa más, más cubriente, más envolvente, más cálida, más sólida, algo que parte de abajo luego proteja los costados y finalmente también piensa en la cabeza, que quizás proporcione la temperatura de forma independiente, pero ¿cuál podría ser? toh! pero es la casa! y tonto que quería dejarla! en invierno conviene inventar la cuarta dimensión, para salir de casa sin ni siquiera salir de casa. o como otros lo llaman, Internet.
Para mi la vida es pasión. La pasión es inspiración. La inspiración es un salto, una locura, una agitación, una tormenta interior que se renueva continuamente, entre arcoíris iridiscentes e inundaciones universales. Y los arcoíris son tan hermosos que hacen que tu corazón explote, pero se disuelven en un abrir y cerrar de ojos … Anhelo la tranquilidad. No estoy hecho para la tranquilidad. Esta es mi sentencia: hacer estallar. Entre nosotros es así nos perdemos y nos encontramos a nosotros mismos. Nos entendemos a los ojos del otro y nunca dejamos de asombrarnos. Pensamientos en perfecta sincronía mentes sintonizadas y sentimientos en armonía. Frágil, sí. Pero fuerte en nuestras elecciones. Tendríamos la capacidad de aniquilarnos a nosotros mismos. pero nos apoyamos el uno en el otro y si uno cae el otro también cae. Si te enfermas Sufriré como una flor pisoteada, si me voy a enfermar serás como una farola que no se quiere encender y me buscarás en la oscuridad. Tan diferente como el calor y las heladas muy similar como granos de arena. Y yo vendré a buscarte cada vez que te pierdes y ya no encontrarás el camino. Yo sere esa luz que te guiará a casa y oirás mi voz llamando tu nombre y no te darás la vuelta, pero sabrás que estoy detrás de ti. Abrázame fuerte Abrázame fuerte porque por la noche es dificil estar solo porque sin ti el mundo es un poco menos colorido. Y bastará con vernos para entender, sin palabras esos son inútiles.
Hay momentos en que sucede algo extraño. Te encuentras distante de la persona con la que te gustaría estar, quizás no lo sientes, no sabes lo que hace, pero por eso no te resignes a vivir sin él. No tener a alguien cerca no te impide tenerlo dentro y si realmente lo tienes dentro no podrás dejarlo lejos.


I’ve always been honest. Here is my problem. I don’t pretend. If I can’t stand you I’ll tell you, if you don’t respect me I don’t respect you, if I don’t want you near I will push you away. I’m not pretending, print it on your head. I don’t pretend a love that doesn’t exist, I don’t pretend to smile if I don’t like seeing you, I don’t pretend to have esteem for you if you make me sick as a person, you could even be 100 years old, nothing would change. Because I behave as I want to behave, as I feel I have to behave and not as “the rules” impose. This is my problem: I’m different from you and you just can’t stand this. My sincerity scared you, scared you that I’m real. Who I am will always screw me up and I am aware of it, yet you have to know one thing: better a hundred years of solitude than a single day in your company. When I saw that you were not sincere, that your play was only to exploit me, to draw on my resources, then I could no longer tolerate what you did to me. You are no longer a fixed thought as before, but sometimes my attention falls on you, for various reasons, but in any case I categorically avoid getting close to you, I no longer miss you as I once did, I’m fine without you, I no longer hurt myself, I have learned to be enough for a while now, I have learned to turn around and not find you, I have gradually got used to your absence, until it has become almost irrelevant, almost no longer felt, only in some fragments of time, I happen to feel your absence on my skin, but even this time it is no longer the same, I think about you, I think about you, about what we could have been but then, my attention turns away from it and I think that those who want you keep you, that those who love you stay, those who repent come back, that if only you had wanted with the same intensity with which I wanted, we could have been so damn happy, but it didn’t happen, and it goes well. I feel lighter now without you, I feel myself, I feel I don’t have to deprive myself of my life, and it’s fabulous, but above all I feel that I am in harmony with myself, I have developed self-love. don’t come back, don’t, not yet, not again. do not destroy everything I have created. go away. get out of me and my life for good. I’m sorry I don’t care, but I learned from you.


Arranged in front of me,

to me and my steel hammer

everywhere in this room as vast as a desert

the men

they are like tubular bells

metal cylinders arranged

motionless like a terracotta army

Similar and dumb

but not one the same as the other

similar cylinders

but not one the same as the other:

black iron


stained copper

reddish gold or fine gold

there blue silver

pure platinum

brass of tuba and handle o

industrial cast iron

Similar bells


standing waiting

but I know: none the same as the other.

I know every mouth is the same

but before singing.

So them.

Ritual bells all the same distinct not by shape

but from the toll.

It is not them I am looking for, but the sound.

And here under my hammer they sing each of a different song.

Each releases its own reverb

concentric aura of possibility and splendor

violet vibrations

and gilded

that ripple and innervate

the emptiness around.

I'm not looking for men

but stories

each precious

none ever

the same as the other.


I feel everything as if it were empty. 
Nothing around. I fumble in the deep darkness. 
Just a light. 
Just a thrill in the air, 
your eyes looking at my soul.
I have nothing, but I have You,
therefore I have everything.
All around vibrates in the ether only one thing, you.
Like constant beating of wings that your heart remembers.
A vibration. 
A thrill. 
Contact with silky skin.
An emotion that revives.
A kiss resting on smooth skin. 
Eyes that like windows open onto an enchanted world.
A world that is your soul ....
Waking up, opening your eyes to each other. 
A hug of looks. 
A smile and the morning opens ...
Here is a new day. 
Here I look forward to seeing myself still in your eyes.
I need to hold you tight. Dip your face in your hair. 
Smell your perfume, suck you inside me.
A heart drowning in murky waters of sadness.
He gasps, desperately looking for the air of your smile ....
Narrow is the heart. 
I darken the soul. 
Then here it is your smile and it lights up in the morning.
A light breeze brings your perfume so that my nostrils can be filled with it. 
Breeze that is like your caress.
The face of the sky is now day, 
greets those who have a place already reserved in their hearts.
A place imprinted in the heart, 
carved into the soul.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: