HARD HEARTS


Hearts of sugar,
hard hearts,
of hard sugar.
Hardened,
hard souls,
enraged,
who tell themselves,
like syrup,
sweet lies.
They became hard,
deceived hearts,
that see themselves and don't see themselves.
In their own world,
indulgent souls,
unwilling to look,
benevolent,
embittered,
hypocritical,
deceived.
without criticizing themselves.
Without knowing how to see themselves,
self-satisfied,
souls ******* others,
they believe they are made of sugar,
and they are hard walls of sugar.
in their flawed mirrors.
Sweet glances for themselves,
in their distorted reflections,
sharp teeth with others,
double standards,
self-satisfied,
harsh judges
with others.
Hygroscopic hearts,
that **** up what's good,
and tell themselves they are good.




--

28-VII-2025

Envy

Always lurking,
those glances,
that ****,
envy.

Observing,
what they will never have,
always looking to suffer.

Searching for what they don't possess,
those empty lives,
that have no life.

Lives without substance,
that don't wish well,
filling everything with thorns.

Admiring all that belongs to others,
without knowing how to enjoy,
what is their own.

---

PERTURBING

Tragedies, those moments,
a perturbing moment,
between life and the other.
Catastrophes of life,
uncertainties,
for some.
In those moments,
on the edge of the abyss,
sometimes there are hard instants,
waves that drown, into nothingness.
Earthquakes that lay waste to everything,
a perturbing moment.
In an instant,
everything changes,
unstable,
fragile.
Moments,
between the good,
between disasters,
everything keeps changing.
With nothing certain,
everything changes,
for the better,
or not.
Instants,
that inspire fear,
between the dread of living.
On those fragile lines,
on life's tightropes.
Suspended by the waves,
on the razor's edge,
life is dangerous.
To live is enigmatic,
precarious lives.
Everything is an adventure,
on the line of living,
between life and the end,
lines that separate.
That life one lives,
sometimes it goes quickly,
between tidal waves,
hard and soft.
Among so many,
moments,
of living,
or of
passing,
without living,
or lived.
Long lives,
or brief days,
perturbing
that life,
who
knows
...

30-VII-2025

Empty Bottles

Messages,
from the heart.
Slowly I go,
and I fade away,
and everything will end for me,
while that heart,
continues tenacious, beating
Sending messages.
Empty bottles,
reaching no one,
they have no destination,
nor an end.
Messages,
impossible,
Broken letters,
in empty bottles,
that will not fill with love,
that longed-for and sought-after heart.

Messages in broken bottles,
from a broken heart,
messages without destination,
love that doesn't arrive,
love of nothing.
Hearts,
that search,
for that message,
that will never arrive.
Poems in sad bottles,
messages that crumble into tears,
hearts trapped in their desires,
that don't know how to reach others,
love encapsulated,
in the void,
of nothingness.
Sad love,
in messages
of my poems,
broken messages.
Shipwrecked of love,
broken messages.

WHISPERS
Seconds that drag in the night,
seconds that pass without knowing.
Stretching the seconds,
into minutes.
In the night.
In that time,
to refresh oneself.
Among the stars,
in the soul's silence,
amidst soft music.
Time to forget,
to finally come out,
within oneself,
forgetting everything.
Seconds to go,
to come to oneself.
One's moment,
to become absorbed,
to be oneself.
To forget the hustle and bustle,
to immerse oneself in the self,
to refresh ideas,
and be within oneself,
letting seconds pass,
stretching life.
Lengthening seconds,
converting seconds,
into minutes that slip away,
disregarding the hours.
Whispers of the seconds,
to convert life
into slow poems,
that float,
in the air.

28-VII-2025

---
Sunset Lounge 2025 | Smooth Sax & Deep House Chill Mix • 2-Hour Slow BPM

www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8AQn9Wbu7k&list=RDi8AQn9Wbu7k&start_radio=1

PASODOBLE.
An unfinished symphony, this life,
like a pasodoble, at times,
growing each day, and ending.
While this, my life, fills with its musical band,
a music that plays through days and moments,
as the path draws to a close.
And the drums sound,
to bid farewell
to that life,
that gets stuck,
and doesn't want to end,
while pasodobles play on

Música y vinos, Manuel Morales Martínez (1977)
www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6vCfTo8idE&list=RDt6vCfTo8idE&start_radio=1

ANOTHER LIFE

I don't need to be anything
to be myself.
I am not a gentleman,
nor do I pretend to be.
Just a shadow,
who was happy once,
without knowing it, I had happiness,
those days with the love
of my loved ones.
The treasure that left,
death took them away.

So long ago,
through others,
I lived well,
I watched you,
in my life,
and I was happy
to have you
by my side.

They were my life.
They were there,
with me.
They were everything,
all that was necessary
to be happy.
To be full,
to be satiated
every day.
Then I filled
the absences
with things,
and that
was not
mine.
That life,
did not fill,
did not satiate,
I did not buy
happiness,
I did not fill it
with what was valuable.
So many things
were not
mine.
And life
was nothing,
with so much,
and in the end.
Everything
for
nothing.