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Moni May 28
No puedes morir
Porque tu alma es bella y pura,
Brillante y rara
Y aunque sufras,
No se ha mancillado

No puedes morir
Porque aunque las drogas
Quitaban su felicidad,
Jamás faltabas amor ni humanidad

No puedes morir
Porque nunca te oí decir
que te valió la pena
Por tú valor,
Por tu escapa de la canción de la serena

No puedes morir
Porque jamás te dije que te quiero
Y aunque me duele decirlo,
Espero que un día
Oirás mis palabras
glass Feb 2022
uno día voy a morir, ¿y para qué?
para la gente, la tierra, el cielo, a ella
estrellas en su cabello
ella está tan lejos
y estoy aquí.
no allí no allá, no es para mí
comprendo y sé
pero no me gusta aunque
es cierto.
la puerta cerrada, abierta y cada
vez la paso en la casa en cada caso
ahora estoy ya muerto
lia Mar 2021
corazón de cristal
hecho trizas estás
por un mal de amores
esparcido tus trozos están

oh corazón querido
te he lastimado tanto
por pretender amar
ha quienes no se permiten amar
Dante Rocío Nov 2020
Seized by the fear,
The justice transforms paradoxically
into perspectives.
Perspective of people
who only float
and do not question
their fragile concept of existence.
Lying to themselves,
they decided from their comfort zone
to speak of “justice” to the world; yet
as long as you don’t understand truly
the truth about your chains, you’ll keep on
defending the empire.
You will never truly understand the pain of others,
you will never be able to truly feel the justice
because you fear dying,
and also paradoxically,
although I am giving you the answer,
you also fear loving.
And without love there will never be true justice.


Apoderados por el miedo,
la justicia se transforma paradójicamente
en perspectivas.
Perspectiva de personas
que solo flotan y no cuestionan
su frágil concepto de existencia.
decidieron desde su comodidad
hablar sobre “justicia” para el mundo; pero
mientras que no comprendan verdaderamente
la verdad sobre sus cadenas, seguirán protegiendo al imperio.
Jamás entenderán el dolor de otros,
jamás podrán verdaderamente sentir la justicia
porque temen morir,
y paradójicamente también,
aún que les den la respuesta,
también temen amar,
y sin amor jamás habrá verdadera justicia.
An old remnants of a speech being prepared where this poem wove its way into my research and it stayed however never used or with place for it found due to restrictions from above.
Now it happens to break free from Poetalia and come back into English I share with you.
Enjoy the simplicity and a cry of broken stoic blood.
Dante Rocío Nov 2020
I reflect with a projection,
when hearing
melodies of rhythm or
lower basses like guttural
voice chords, especially
in the dark or being on a waiting room
of a car ride,
whenever I want it or not
an endless dance or some
image that twirls into
even though
there’s no dress to whizz,
feet strong like Carmen Amaya’s
had no mercy for Iberian taverns’
dance floors of flamenco
watching that spectacle
from discarded collage views
of that accounting
and how no
voice is needed to direct
the melody a vector,
only let it be sung-thrung
through the heat rising
and orchestra listened to
completely, sharp motions in
the eyes of the crowd
or those who had ever considered
pondering on me like a philosophy...

Maybe such styles and asphyxiations
of rapid ragged jerkings of too sharp
notes in the air cutting
the atmosphere like a blunt knife
have got to me a long time ago,
stay ever more as visions to moves
audacious, and have been
chosen beforehand my vessel
without its decision to be turned
into something greater
in the collaboration with my own other dishes
to fit Passion.

Then - then - I always imagine - then
in all that how
any certain entity
would be looking at that,
taking it in from the outside
and what that painting of me
will be made as
in their sculpted no flesh

Thank you
Ladies, Gentlemen, Whoever Further
for attending
Prima, Prova, espanso aggiunto dalla danza e verso il fiato soffocato ma del fiato.
The daze of that accounting and making, above, within, towards, has been written and reminisced so real from every reoccurring time of itself my body authentically lost breath and freedom of fatigue's influence by then from that vision. Beforehand, afterhand.
Have you ever come to dance there where your body doesn't exist yet only what's beyond it eventually here on Earth or somewhere else? The feet knives rather than flesh and deprived of idea of physical ******* or not
Mikaela L Oct 2020
Una angustia infinita,
Un rostro trágico,
No hay razón alguna,
Somos perfectos,
Tú eres la imperfecta,
Te has hecho todo un ocho,
Solita te agonizas,
Solo te explicamos que eres un error,
Que te vistes como un vagabundo,
Que hablas en tonos deformes,
Que tienes gustos distintos,
Olvida la fémina,
Abraza lo normal,
Solías ser normal.
A veces dudo si mi "yo" interior vale algo...
Mikaela L Oct 2020
Hoy, entre el reloj y la pantalla de mi computador,
Hoy, entre conversaciones grandiosas,
Hoy me preguntas si me creo el gran "Creador",
Te envío un mensaje envuelto en rosas secas,
"Tú eres la creación",
La grandiosa idea,
La meta,
La metida de pata,
La mera esperanza,
Ya no creo en ti,
Pero, el creador tampoco cree en sí mismo,
Por ende,
En sí misma,
No hay salida alguna,
Solo me queda volver a crear...
Una historia de un creador inexistente. Vea usted....
Dante Rocío Aug 2020
Though another day passes,
once having arrived,
cinnamon sunny
with a misguided preaching
from a catholic church,

I recall our gorgeous
misty evening
right by the waves
from yesterday
and its one peculiar
my dad pointed to
a far away regatta
sailing in
a distance
whilst standing to my
right and asked
me not quoting

“Do you know why
I wanted to go
to the sea?
The vastness of that body,
no endings in infinity,
no one to tell me
what to do,
and once you sailed away
from the harbour
it was just

Whilst I was on my night shift
at the very front
of the ship
on my ever first voyage
by sea,
heading to
England from Gdynia,
I felt as if I
was the very first
man to discover the oncoming
like Cristopher Columbus
with his dear Santa María
breaking the waves”.

Yes, Dad.
I would add,
settled in my question

“Why do I long somehow
in smaller
or bigger
ways too at
times for that
aforementioned harbour
and otherness with so many
sounds, details,
lights and
dancing dangerous like
knives in a tavern
For so similar
so privately schemed
departures I paint?”,

I would answer
without Brain,
even if it would be solely
in perfect, dreamy way

“Because there is
some greater and
truer breath
of mine held out
by a foreign hand
or by standing lonely
from the other mirror’s side
in front of some tremendous
waves of Kanagawa,
hugging itself small
yet with fearless Child’s
patience, like
the Young Verter
on his painting.
Some more abstract
with charisma image
of me there
stands, flowing
instead of walking,
through called aisles.
Beige coat into the
blue falling.

The No Man’s Skies
and Lands
(or yet
Of Some Men)
to be felt with all
the body and
upraising in all hues
and minute sacrifices
in speechless
like lagoon’s turquoise
water that would shine
in a cave’s dark
with krill dancing.”

Some upholdings,
some blind images
and all rest
and light with grey
whose voicing
I cannot make,
not just to keep
it in immaculation
to stay non-maimed.

The Missing.

Why do I keep having this dream?
These might be now only flickers
Of a proof to come and test it once for all.
Probably a family inheritance
I get in blood or sight
From Adam
So often yet at times
Dante Rocío Aug 2020
Que se lo cruza, que se lo llama,
del mar que viene pero él
que se queda,
y forma todas las playas
de verdades, turbulencias,
¡que sólo los barcos de dignidad
alcáncenlo, ellas!

Yes, surely I am deplored by
the beauty of destructions’ marking, holding dear
what’s longingly perverted
through the lost.
Ravens’ repulsing cries
are the needed on the shores,
not just on the autumn,
the rotting of the sea tales
their voices hold,
the selection of exquisite
that my preference twisted wants.
And so much else I daze over,
that overlay of the Emerald Land’s
waves and beats that
my distant to the south shore pleads,
that jade,
that shock,
that valiancy of the Scots
which in our sands
and crashing skies
should be,
to be.

The awaiting
for that dripping glory
in a mellowed casing of a wrecking ship,
it’s in a waiting room
made from a lone standing rock
that carries myths and ventures
to fulfill,
the Young Verter’s

Show up on our silver days
at the bays,
El Acantilado,
del Norte, caro,
The Cliff, The Cliff,
Ese Acantilado!
Presenting the longing yet sensing a fulfilment
At a sanded scorched but finally in the mist beach
Where I started calling for the British shores
To come to us,
To fill the southern water lands
With a valiant storytelling, storms and grandiosity
Ours seem to have not in calm relax.
Envisioning it.
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