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Esmena Valdés May 2017
We were like aliens
From parallel worlds
And used to communicate
More through kisses than words.

Made of our hobbies
Fetish of each other.
Nobody could stops us
Not even sisters
Or brothers.

We used to do
Odd customs and professions
And shared the same
Gray melancholic
Music taste.

Those eyes had exquisite precious
Like a flying green bird in a cage.
September 2016
Soy un alma deambulando
de un lado a otro
me gustan los brotes de abril.
Ya casi es abril.

Pensé en él.
Dijo: 'cuando el agua cae en la tierra deja sus huellas en ella,
calma la cólera del fuego.
Tú eres agua, yo ardo.'
Así sucedió el mediodía y sus palabras se regaron dentro de mí como fértil magma de mis jardines.

Somos procreadores del mundo
queremos escapar del bullicio de las calles abrir la ventana y saludar al sol.
Queremos penetrar el océano un millar de veces y dirigirnos a la montaña fría
por sentirnos tibia la piel.

También dijo:
'Que encuentres los mejores caminos
hacia los mejores lugares.'
Palabras bien cimentadas,
que me llevaron hacia él mismo.
Sigo aquí,
entré a través de sus ojos oscuros. Estoy satisfecha porque respira, porque me mira, porque es.

Quiero que se quede
hasta que el principio y el fin
se hayan disuelto.

Han sido los impulsos
los que me han mostrado el mundo
parte de mi plenitud,
me han llevado allá donde el sol y la tierra son eléctricos
y me separan de lo peor,
de los monstruos que se ocultan bajo mis tristezas.

Al final de la jornada sólo deseo acurrucarme entre sus brazos de cuna
hacernos inmortales
en un suave beso fugaz
y fusionarnos en el mismo sueño.

Él es mi morada, él es mi movimiento, él llena mis días.

Entre las ciudades y los caminos
mientras las estrellas nos miran
existe un lugar rodeado de campo
de nubes multicolores
y de cálido misterio.
Quiero perpetuar ahí
con los míos y los tuyos,
hacerlo todo parte de nosotros,
el filo del horizonte, los tejados y el cieno del bosque, la compañía, el sol, el silencio, las camas, el olor de la madera, la sonoridad de los árboles, la sensualidad, los poemas que leemos en voz alta, la humedad, el agua de la regadera, las comidas improvisadas, las risas de los desconocidos, mis gestos, tus manos, el arte que al que vamos atados.
Está bien envejecer,
está mejor envejecer contigo
en esta casa.
Está magnífico llamarle hogar.
Esmena Valdés Oct 2018
A blank box.
The antistrophe of the only thought of your dwelling repeats.
Your riveted eyes
like silkscreens of my harsh summers continue to ******* me,
they are imprinted to my seemingly abandoned, seemingly rotten consciousness.
I saw you reach the ledge
and then jump into the sea.
The sea sounds beautiful and is beautiful but also: The Sea

Down there your coastal effects
lay within the wave that pacifies
two legged sharks,
and the waters swallowed you
with voracious hunger.

Everything became withered,
the death cart arrived.
It came to take you to the great party of the longest night.
The beasts followed their pulse leading your way
to the black sun's of cosmo
giving way to perpetuity.

A blank box.
The antistrophe of the only thought of your dwelling repeats.
Only the sea witnessed you flight
and now you are The Sea.
Esmena Valdés Sep 2018
Acts of love save.

They save from evil
from envy
from suffering
from disturbing memories.

Only acts of love save.

From the nightmarish and stagnant life.

From anxieties
Of unnecessary tears.

Acts of love save.

From words that hurts
Of the fiend of insomnia.

From self-flagellation.

From monotony and emptiness.

Only love saves you

from sadness lagoon

from yourself.
Esmena Valdés Sep 2017
I survived another day.
I will rewrite the forgotten,
before it is extinguished.
Steam in my lungs.
Carbon monoxide.
We ate honey in the morning,
to tablespoons.
We kiss without tiredness.
"Bathing together unites us," he said.
Resonant palpitations.
The guitar sounds soft.
You give me music of spirit.
I survived another day
because you breathe.
Esmena Valdés Aug 2018
The sky is a bowl of withered stars.
With emotion veiled
in the corner
of those truly murky blankets.
I spoke with the ghost of a fulminated tree
he told me his story
that is mine.

So his indirect revenge.

I will make a prayer to the rainbow after the flood,
after us,
after you and me.

There is no solution outside of love.
The more I observed the photograph
more soul acquired.

Suddenly it seemed to expel air
directly from her lungs:
be sad and then
disguise it.

Suddenly she seemed to want to say something,
to take a look at the light — Careful, careful — with a stare.

Lips loose,
wanting to form a smile that never comes.

Sparkling eyes that pierce the atoms.

Calm eyes of the ocean.

Eyes of moon and sun that observes everything.

A silence of complicity was present
in the atmosphere of the room.

And she, who knew her as my self,
suddenly it was not just a photograph.

Every ****** of her face
forced me to return more strongly
to that moment
in which I caught the life.
Esmena Valdés Oct 2018
You know that we are real
I wake up with your deep eyes
inside me.
I would like to throw roots
in your heart
connect it with mine
and when the universe goes out
and its darkness became immense
will be there your breath and mine
electrifying a new everything.
Esmena Valdés Jan 2018
It is known through the eyes.
Not from voice
designated instrument of the thymus
but the eyes.
Portals of silent universes.
The expression of the gaze
sometimes sings and dances.
Distracting eyes
couriers and trunks
sometimes they blink but aren't liars.
It could be the same wicked look
kinda lost,
kinda absorbed,
but never turbid.
I like to take refuge in the dark, especially in the corners, where absolute darkness reigns, where only she is allowed, where not even the shadow transcend.
And nothing more serene my soul cut by the vileness, than the primitive feeling of the abyss, a chasm that relieves, that listens, that dissolves.
And I, I am a scammer camouflaged in the bark of that tree, my pupils on you, breath of bark, heart of wood, try a bonfire in my guts.
Scammers, let's play a game, let's hide inside ourselves again and again until we lose ourselves in the labyrinth of judgment.
Let's ****** ourselves with the lies and the characters that we have created, let's go out and give scene to our obviousness, to our weaknesses that sometimes are so alien to us.
Let's go loose, out of control, howling for the severity of our gross acts.
Let's laugh at everything, here in the darkness.
Esmena Valdés Sep 2018
We forgot.

We do not distinguish


m e m o r i e s

From ordinary moments,
we do not discover it
until later

b e c a u s e  o f  t h e  s c a r s.

Everything we said
will be corpuscles
scattered in the wind

a n d  you  l i k e  me

will forget.

I am tired
of looking a frozen sun,
of being an

e m o t i o n a l  n o m a d

of depositing

l o v e

in something that later
transforms into absorbed
thoughts and attitudes.

But this is my
and it is also

c i r c u m s t a n t i a l.
Esmena Valdés May 2017
What you know about the silence
that wounded the abyss
in the distance?
What you know about me?
You do not have soul
nor your art spirit
it's air dance dead
so confuse with specters
that already existed
like butterfly flight.
The feast
that you have harvested
in your mind
is worthless,
your knowledge is gross
and your love
a cold stone.

Imagine the world without you.

You do not have soul
nor your art spirit
it's air dance dead
so confused
with echoes
on the summit of nowhere
like dreams
at first sight.
Are not we just dust and water?

What you know about the silence
that wounded the abyss in the distance?
Something's blossomed
in my luck
you left me
without sigh
and fled to the seashore.

What do you know about me if you've never seen me more?

— The End —