Circulos

Si la forma
de circulos dibujado espontaneamente
encima del piel suave de una mano
tienen una voz,
que solamente busca una oreja
para susurrar su sabiduria
y inspirar la mente joven, inocente
de la que escucha

La tinta indiferente
cubriendo las ruegas
markados por un pasado que
salvo el cuerpo conoze
rechazado de la memoria
y reanimado en momentos
unicos
de soledad insoportable

Es posible que
las lineas de un movimiento accidental
tengan un efecto, un destino
tan profundo,
mezclandose con la fantasia
con el deseo
de vivir
con la fe de que haya
algo más alla
de lo que percibimos nosotros,
con nuestros seis sentidos
perdidos en el universo

Es demasiado pedir
por una pista donde debo ir,
en que dirección girar
y por qué?

Diganmelo lineas,
Diganmelo circulos dibujados
en mi mano
por favor.

Suppose

Suppose for just one second

that the empire we have created within the boundaries

of the crumbling sounds of a clock ticking;

imposed upon the foundation

of stripped-down, naked feelings

A sovereignty that didn´t know its own name.

If we suppose for just a minute

that the world is purely an envisioned orb of the night,

that transitioning and transfering, moving and being moved,

is just as easy as falling onto an unconditional film

of feather-filled tenuity

not an aching pain for the left-behind

turned up and around mixed with vulnerable yearning

turning to indecisive sorrow.

If we suppose for an hour

That there´re only two people on the planet

that it´s just you and me,

like a juxtaposition juxtaposing its self

taking away the ghosts of others in our minds,

so that we can believe

without doubt

in the solemn existence of just two.

If just for days we can replace

The touch of skin and bones

With the breeze of the evening wind

And the teary raindrops soothing the morning air,

If the illusions can make room

For the songbirds that carry your voice within

Saturating the vacant emptiness of my heart

Then endlessly we can keep building bridges

Over stormy seas me might otherwise

Have to cross paralyzed

And even though the bricks will weigh

The weight invisibly pushing down on us,

We will be able to walk barefoot without

Cuts in our feet on the bridges

That we manage to construct.

Dots Make Lines

Dots Make Lines
and circles
and sometimes - faces -
so many, without differing between
the differences that make us
who we are

Who are we?
are you you and
am I me?
Or is it
the other way around
are we
One?

Dot

turning into

Lines

but back
 to the question
can I define
me
 without seeing these single dots
of characteristics that
then maybe define

Am I not rather a sentiment
 of what I think to want
to be
 and to act accordingly

Maybe even wanting to be who
I think YOU want me to be?
Oh,
that would be cheating
myself
wouldn´t it

But in this society
where we are all full of labels of
fat and skinny
A or just barely C-
sneakers or
high-heals
blue or brown eyed

I so want
to throw all the tags
out the window

create

what I really am

but how

when really what I am looking for
is a glimpse inside.