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Luiz 7d
Quiero ser el Sol al que te levantas

todos los dias...
Con la sangre en la copa
y el rojo en la boca
realiza un ritual
de origen medieval.
Tal vez se ha vuelto loca.
Te amo
Pero no te puedo decir
Te quiero mucho
10 palabras
As I embark on my bucket-list travels,

There is something I wish to unravel,

To see my skills at penning poetry,

Over which currently I have no mastery

My family kept goading me,

To shed my lethargy,

And make a beginning,

Which in hindsight, was a self- awakening

It was on a fine morning in sunny Spain,

That I decided to make some meaningful gains,

In penning my first few lines,

Without allowing my mind to work overtime

While walking down the streets of Seville,

You see people wanting to do what they will,

It's a wonderful feeling of being stress-free,

Which makes me think "is this what life is meant to be"?

The street restaurants are a gourmets' delight,

That's  sheer heavenly bliss in every bite,

The menu variety is the joy of any epicurean,

And the task to choose makes it no less Herculean

Street cafes abound in no small measure,

With people flocking in droves to seek hedonistic pleasure,

The wining and dining carry on past midnight,

And makes you wonder whether the end is ever in sight

Beating the heat with a cool retreat,

Are ice creams and sorbets in an array of treats,

The flavors on display makes one spoilt for choice,

But once decided, it is a matter to rejoice

The popular flea market on Sundays,

Is a rarity not seen everyday,

Hawkers displaying their unique wares,

A sight not beholden everywhere

The ornamental antiques,

Embrace the mystique,

To the ardent art lovers' gazing eye,

There is so much stuff that money can buy

To the connoisseur philatelist,

There were no stamps that did not exist,

To the persevering numismatist,

The jingle of coins was a means to co-exist,

The rustle of currency, an erstwhile pleasure to the notaphilists,  

Such a variety of notes no longer exists

Amazing to listen to the ceaseless chatter,

The noisy banter, little did it matter,

Price haggling was no laughing matter,

Achieving the end result was all that did matter

The Triana sector famous for its ceramic ware,

Artistic glazed tiles, pottery and curios discerned just about everywhere,

Such is the craftsmanship excelling in intricate designs,

The wide variety on display just blows away your mind

Meandering through streets and alleys was a pleasure,

Whilst enjoying the local traditions in no small measure,

The staccato Spanish chatter of passers by,

Was a joy to listen- an unique experience that money can't buy

The number of cathedrals was definitely aplenty,

Each with a history extending to posterity,

The majestic domes and sprawling structures,

Bore  ample testimony to ancient and contemporary cultures

The  numerous horse carriages sauntering on the cobblestone paths,

Were a sight to behold with their inimitable trot,

The tourists and locals alike beamed as they rode by,

Responding to the constant cheers of passers-by

As the day dawned on our leaving Seville,

It was more out of compulsion than our own free will,

That with a heavy heart we had to bid adieu,

Knowing fully well that such a feeling was not anew
Mis dedos y nariz rozan tu almohada.
Tu ausencia pesa una tonelada,
y tus huellas que huelen a rosas
evocan las cosas perdidas
que se convirtieron en mis heridas.

(My fingers and nose caress your pillow.
Your absence weighs a tonne,
and the traces of you that smell like roses
evoke the lost things
transformed into my wounds.)
Link to short film: https://youtu.be/XY4jNbzmDnI
Carolina Oct 24
La necesidad de un cambio,
casi desgarrador,
que promete una revolución
a nivel interior.
La palabrería
ha nublado toda la razón,
sin lógica alguna
ahora seguís al corazón.
Te lleva a situaciones
donde te disparan a quemarropa.
Ya deberías haber aprendido
a cerrar un poco la boca.
Aunque hay luz
por encontrar
todavía no sabes bien
dónde buscar.
Pero estás creciendo,
ya casi lo logras.
Cuando encuentres a tu gente
no te paran más.
Alfa Oct 18
whispering rain tapping on the window
flooding my ears with sound, fluorescent
light screaming inside my brain, lift
your hands towards me again, you
won’t see me de nuevo. Wilt
beneath the demanding life you’ve beaten,

and maybe your fear will agitate
you, into a comatose state you
had put me in.,and hidden
me away from the world, mauling
innocence out of me with incremental,
unwanted touches that cannot be undone.

from handcuffs on wooden poles, foaming
mouths pouncing on my skin, melting
within myself as you drowned wearisome
unhinged fantasies onto me, and use
children for your pleasure to continue
terrorizing freely while we all trickle.
Abused as a child, here is my testimony about my abuser. Six lines in each stanza, she truly was the devil.
Alfa Oct 16
How do you make your rice?
is it in a ***? a pan? steamed? heated? not at all?

mine is in a frying ***.

Yellow, with pollo from the fresh market.
Peas, y frijoles on the side.

Mix it up, eat it, keep it for later.

Burn the bottom so you can get la chemada part.

If you like the chemada part, not everyone does.
A poem about my personal views on American society. How a bunch of different cultures live together which is why I make references to rice, as different types of rice making shows what culture you come from. I say I like mine in a "frying ***" because that's how I see America, a frying *** and not a "melting ***" as they say. Whereas a melting *** mixes cultures well, a frying *** keeps people at the bottom "burnt" like "chemada" (burnt rice at the bottom of the pan).
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