I am – Poetry


whether I shared this one before? I do not remember. It does not matter. I know who I am, for some lost straw floating in the open sea, to another I am – an awakened fear of eyes wide open, for a third pathetic muse with warm afternoon sun on her cheeks – wounds opened, which leaves me in burns, that’s what I’m, while burning at the stake, I – scarecrow for people, the one that stirs up the night and dies at dawn, quietly, in the midst of a dream.
That’s me, that is who I am – Poetry.

poetry

****
Calderon said: life is a dream
A deceptive escort between two awakenings
Neither life nor death
Nor something third
Neither life after death
Nor death before life
And it dies among hour hands
Before it spends the night in our bodies

Segismundo chained by precarious stars in vain
Announces a great illusion
And circles of mute dreams

After one thousand and two hundred nights
I see my bones peering in the gardens
If eternity would rule before the dawn
Perhaps it would cure the loneliness

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