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Después que todo ha pasado

Después de tanta depredación

De nuestra “galería de glorias conquistadas”

No queda más que esta silueta

-El apéndice de una sombra

Desdibujada, errabunda

Sin fuerzas para esgrimir los puños contra el cielo

Sin ánimos para amontonar improperios

Ante la puerta estrecha del destino.
Miguel Nino R Jan 2018
If you ever live in this Hell,
Remember how fragile freedom really is
Remember how hopes can make you hurt

If you ever live in this Hell,
You'll see misery in every corner
as well as people running to get to the nearest border

If you ever live in this Hell,
Your  frequent words will be dollars, food, emptiness
Your frequent thought will be "when all of this will see an end?"

If you ever live in this Hell,
Remember that no one will never be safe
So you better start running away

If you ever live in this Hell,
You'll be a ghost in the middle of empty streets
You'll be another cow under the suffocating sun

If you ever live in this Hell,
The struggle of surviving will be skin deep
All you wish is you're living a bad dream while you sleep

If you ever live in a Hell,
You'll see how fragile freedom actually is
and that's when you'll appreciate any piece of it
A poem I wrote about how hard is the situation  in my country, Venezuela, is really frustrating what people is actually living there, from a lot of people searching in the garbage to get  some food to people get shot because they don't  have nothing of value.  It's devastating what you see and live on its streets.
Charlotte Dec 2017
The world watches you fall,
the largest proven oil reserves
but you couldn’t call out to your brothers
acknowledge your mistake
so that you may grow.

You **** children,
hunger grips every mother
and fathers struggle with
children of eight trying to earn a wage.

Your country is ****** up
holding it pride to its chest
waving the flag never admitting that
their force has killed eight thousand
or that their children are in hospitals

Kenyerber Aquino Merchán,
less than two starved to death
because hospitals have no formula
to feed the innocent.

Spine and rib cage protruding,
mourners with wildflowers from the hills,
and relatives cut out a pair
of cardboard wings from
empty white ration boxes.

Let you pass away,
sleeping now under my wings,
we’ll conger the wind
and ease the president's pride,
he is hiding under the cover
cowering the corner -
he has no one else to blame.
I broke down in tears writing this - I wrote it because of this article - I don't know how to help because the president refuses to accept international help apart from loans from Russia which barely hold the country a float. So I did the only thing I know how to do to help - write.
Jr Aug 2017
Irrita la garganta y daña el hígado,
que bastante ya se ha visto machacado
por años de prácticas funestas.

El más ****** líquido,
encuentra camino en mi esófago,
repleto de falsas esperanzas,
va camino abajo y patea mis entrañas
encargándose de dejar escapar la cordura.

Menos por menos es más,
y aquello que te vuelva inestable
en una casa sin columnas ni vigas,
seguro te hará sentir a salvo.

Fuerte aroma y tacto cuestionable,
aunque lo conozcas desde siempre,
todas las veces se siente
como el primer beso
pero con mordida.

Como champaña descorchada,
hace florecer cualquier pensamiento,
entre palabras que escapan a duras penas
de la lengua envenenada y adormecida.

El que lo niegue no lo ha probado,
y si lo probó y lo negó,
tiene ante usted a un ángel limpio y puro,
puesto que ésta es la poción de los pisoteados.
ICN Jul 2017
What happened?
Oh wait I remember
A president was elected
But we didn't get him
Instead we a got a dictatorial regime.

Freedom of speech was the first right to go
Slowly but surely
Prisoners of war
Accumulated in the prisons.

College kids and Activists
Beaten, *****, shot, ridiculed.
They might as well have been tarred and feathered

How sick do you have to be to shoot at a girl
With her eyes closed
Crying for her country?

How sick do you have to be to paralyze a 15 year old boy
With the rest of us
For his future?

And don't get me started on the grandpa
Who was marching
with his grandchildren

Or the violinist
Dedicating a tune to his country

All trying
To escape from this country
Plagued by insecurity, inflation, and corruption.

The only thing we have left
Is a small scrap of hope.
i don't usually write about Venezuela, because it is a very touchy subject for me but i couldn't help it after yesterday
Carrot arepas on the table,
Busy hands in the kitchen,
Little feet run amok across the house,
And my mouth is full.

They are delicious,
She is the ideal wife,
They are curious,
And are a part of me.

Venezuela gave me their food,
Also her,
Between us both we received them,
And God is the gift giver!
Arepas are a delicious treat from Venezuela/Colombia.
I am bound to her by blood,
this madwoman of a city
with eyes that see
a comatose heart, with no feeling.

One, two, three hundred,
a thousand —
we are all carbon copies
of her silicone *******, collagen cheeks
teeth bleached whiter
than the pearls we adorn ourselves with.

I was a child
when I left this madwoman,
mother of my younger years.
I left her drinking cuba libres,
stirring ice with her finger,
her nails crimson red.

I said, “Goodbye, I am leaving you.”
She turned her face back to the barrio
and said, “Adios, Muchacha.”

Years later, I look back on my youth.
I remember her as the mother I lost
the sister I never had
the woman I was afraid to become.

If only she knew
how easy she was to leave
how difficult she was to forget.
Gabriel K Sep 2015
She called from Caracas
May 17th
her voice bold
far away
unnaturally clear
“Do you know what's today?”
maybe some kinna religious event
a martyr or saint?
“It's my birthday"
“Course, yeah I know that happy birthday to...”
“You didn't remember did you?”
“Yes I did. How could I forget that?”
My voice sounded empty flat.
We talk of many things
weather football work
we would meet at Sara's party
King's Cross
the day she gets back
she would go straight from the airport.

I spot her cases at the door
for some thing
she's upstairs clutching a ***** and tonic
******* her ring
we kiss
my lip
her cheek,
she introduces me to a friend
called Stephen
he has muscles
and a tattoo
he's an architect
from New York.
We decide to leave
we have catching-up to do
belated birthday champagne
maybe food.
She is uneasy
we can't find a taxi
which she blames on me;
on the way home
she tells me it's over
she's had time to think
it's time for change
time to start again.
“Is this cause I forgot your birthday?”
she says of course it's not it's lots of things
we're just not compatible.
When I look at her
she smiles
then looks away.
© Gabriel K
Tulio Farias Apr 2015
Se que las palabras no bastan
Hay que completar con acciones
Porque decir te amo no es suficiente
El amor es un verbo

¿Habrá algún momento
en el que deje de pensar en ti?
Querer verte cada vez mas
Con que me hables seria feliz

No se en que terminará esto
Pero quiero saberlo
Estar solo contigo
Aunque sea por un momento

Que me cuentes lo que haces
Que desahogues lo que quieras
Ser el motivo de tu alegría
Y que solo para ti yo escriba "buenos días"

La admiración esta desbordada
Desde mi perspectiva
A veces me asusto
Pero he sido meloso toda esta vida

Esta situación es incomoda
Porque dispongo de todo
Tu no das nada
Y crean sueños rotos

Llegas de repente
Por acto del destino
Pregunto si es una oportunidad
O una experiencia que irá al vacío

Pero como decía antes
No todo son palabras
Hacen falta más acciones
Mas sorpresas inesperadas

Quizás es lo que falta
Para armar esta pieza
O un motivo más
Para que tu digas "no me interesa"

Pero no creo que tu esperes una
Porque ellas te esperan a ti
Tu vida a mi parecer es un tesoro
Y yo lo quiero conseguir
Estoy aprendiendo como...
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