"matrona" poems - Hello Poetry

Si Jamaeda: Isa siyang matrona na ang pangarap ay ang wagas na kagandahan. Palagi siyang nilalait ng kanyang mga kaeskwela. Maging mga kapatid niya ay nilalayuan siya. Samantala, ang mga magulang niya ay ikinahihiya ang kanyang kakatwang presensiya. Isang araw, kanyang natuklasan isang natatanging pormula upang makamtan pinakamimithing kagandahan. Mula sa laboratoryo lumabas ang isang mestisang diyosa na siyang nagdulot nang tiyak na pagkahulog ng bawat panga na nilalampasan niya. Puri dito, puri doon. Ang tainga niya ay pumapalakpak. Kaway rito, kaway doon, hindi siya matigil sa kahahalakhak. “Sa wakas,” ika niya, kagandaha'y napasakanya. Subalit, ngunit, datapwat, langit biglang kumulog, kumidlat. Habang ang diyosa'y pauwing mahinhing naglalakad, nakasalubong niya ang isang matrona na siyang nagpaalala ng mapait na nakaraan niya. Itsura ng matrona sadyang kasuka-suka mas masahol pa sa dating muka ng diyosa, wika ng marami pinagsukluban ng langit at lupa maging impyerno ay nakialam pa. Hiling nito sa diyosa ibahagi ang sikreto niya sa pagbabago ng uling at naging isang ginto, ngunit ang kagandahan ng diyosa'y panlabas lang sapagkat kanyang budhi lubos-lubos ang kaitiman. Itinaas ang kilay at saka pumanhik, hindi niya namalayan ang nagbabadyang panganib. Plok! Plak! Inay ko po'y kaysakit! Ang diyosang marikit, napasubsob sa putik. Ngunit sa halip na malambot ang lupang hahagip 'yon pala'y sa ilalim may nakatagong talim. Matigas niyang mukha ginuhitan ng pait ang maladiyosang matrona nasiraan ng bait. Lahat ng tao'y naengganyong lumapit, sa lakas ng kanyang sigaw dahil sa sobrang sakit. Imbis na tulunga'y pinagtawanan, nilait. “Hahaha! Buti nga sa 'yo, mayabang ka kasi,” ang kanilang sambit. Luha niya'y nangingilid, ngunit walang pasubali, ang kutya nila'y sumasabay sa ulang masidhi. Sa hindi niya inaasahan, dinamayan siya ng isa. Isang pamilyar na mukhang hindi rin naman naiiba sa kanya. Magbuhat noon, natutunan niya ang isang malaking leksiyon: “Mas masarap ang maging duryan, kaysa maging isang mamon.”

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Aug 29, 2017

Aug 29, 2017 at 3:46 AM UTC

KRRW

Jamaedurian

Si Jamaeda: Isa siyang matrona na ang pangarap ay ang wagas na kagandahan. Palagi siyang nilalait ng kanyang mga kaeskwela. Maging mga kapatid niya ay nilalayuan siya. Samantala, ang mga magulang niya ay ikinahihiya ang kanyang kakatwang presensiya. Isang araw, kanyang natuklasan isang natatanging pormula upang makamtan pinakamimithing kagandahan. Mula sa laboratoryo lumabas ang isang mestisang diyosa na siyang nagdulot nang tiyak na pagkahulog ng bawat panga na nilalampasan niya. Puri dito, puri doon. Ang tainga niya ay pumapalakpak. Kaway rito, kaway doon, hindi siya matigil sa kahahalakhak. “Sa wakas,” ika niya, kagandaha'y napasakanya. Subalit, ngunit, datapwat, langit biglang kumulog, kumidlat. Habang ang diyosa'y pauwing mahinhing naglalakad, nakasalubong niya ang isang matrona na siyang nagpaalala ng mapait na nakaraan niya. Itsura ng matrona sadyang kasuka-suka mas masahol pa sa dating muka ng diyosa, wika ng marami pinagsukluban ng langit at lupa maging impyerno ay nakialam pa. Hiling nito sa diyosa ibahagi ang sikreto niya sa pagbabago ng uling at naging isang ginto, ngunit ang kagandahan ng diyosa'y panlabas lang sapagkat kanyang budhi lubos-lubos ang kaitiman. Itinaas ang kilay at saka pumanhik, hindi niya namalayan ang nagbabadyang panganib. Plok! Plak! Inay ko po'y kaysakit! Ang diyosang marikit, napasubsob sa putik. Ngunit sa halip na malambot ang lupang hahagip 'yon pala'y sa ilalim may nakatagong talim. Matigas niyang mukha ginuhitan ng pait ang maladiyosang matrona nasiraan ng bait. Lahat ng tao'y naengganyong lumapit, sa lakas ng kanyang sigaw dahil sa sobrang sakit. Imbis na tulunga'y pinagtawanan, nilait. “Hahaha! Buti nga sa 'yo, mayabang ka kasi,” ang kanilang sambit. Luha niya'y nangingilid, ngunit walang pasubali, ang kutya nila'y sumasabay sa ulang masidhi. Sa hindi niya inaasahan, dinamayan siya ng isa. Isang pamilyar na mukhang hindi rin naman naiiba sa kanya. Magbuhat noon, natutunan niya ang isang malaking leksiyon: “Mas masarap ang maging duryan, kaysa maging isang mamon.”

103

Mujer de un funcionario romano, recorriste la tierra -sombra suya- de Gades a Palmira. Soles distintos te doraron, maduraron tu piel, fueron dejando seco tu corazón. Cómo sería tu cabeza, tu mano, lo que fue carne tibia, vestidura del alma y luego piedra silenciosa... Ahora la mano ya no está en la piedra. Y la cabeza fue limada, desfigurada y corroída por el agua que la albergó durante siglos. ¿Cómo serías? Imagino que el escultor, sumiso a los clientes, las rutinas, los tópicos vigentes en la Roma de los Césares, copió de ti la apariencia banal. ¿Serías verdaderamente -no quedan rasgos que dejen comprobarlo- matrona dura que mandaba sus hijos a la guerra, que prefería muertos valerosos, soledad y desolación, antes que amor, calor y compañía de cobardes? ¿O tu rostro impasible revelaría otra verdad? Ahora no tienes ojos, ni siquiera de piedra, para que en ellos se refleje y cante el mar, el mismo que rompía en tus ojos humanos y te vestía de llamas azules. (A la orilla del mar ocurriría aquel amor). Un legionario, un soñador, un triste, a la orilla del mar... Y le decías: «Ráptame, llévame contigo, da a mi vida sentido y esperanza, olvido y horizonte, dale vida a mi vida». (El fingiría indiferencia cuando subías con ofrendas al templo. Y te abrazaba, enloquecía, te daba vida y muerte cuando estabas con él a solas.) El día que marchaste, dócil al lado de tu esposo, a otro sol y otra tierra del Imperio, lloró desconsolado el que era fuerza tuya. Te hizo un collar de lágrimas el que bebió tus lágrimas. (Esto debió de suceder en la Imperial Tarraco). Ahora no tienes ojos, ni siquiera de piedra. El mar y el tiempo los borraron. (Dentro del mar se pudriría aquel amor). Sólo te queda la impasibilidad con que te imaginaron para edificación y pasmo de los hombres. Jamás podrá la piedra albergar un soplo de vida. Y entonces, dónde ha ido tanta vida, dónde está tanta vida que la piedra no puede contener, no puede imaginar y transmitir. Tanta vida que fue la salvadora del olvido y la nada, ¿habrá muerto contigo? Cómo puede morir lo que fue vida. Quién puede asesinar la vida. Quién puede congelar en estatua una vida. Qué hay en común entre este bulto -pliegues rígidos y elegantes, rostro esfumado, manos mutiladas- y aquella estatua de ola tibia, aquel pequeño sol poniente, aquel viento de carne pálida, aquella arena palpitante, aquel prodigio de rumores: o que tú fuiste un día, lo que eres para siempre en un punto del tiempo y del espacio, en el que escarbo inútilmente con el afán de un perro hambriento.

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1.2k

José Hierro

Estatua mutilada

Mujer de un funcionario romano, recorriste la tierra -sombra suya- de Gades a Palmira. Soles distintos te doraron, maduraron tu piel, fueron dejando seco tu corazón. Cómo sería tu cabeza, tu mano, lo que fue carne tibia, vestidura del alma y luego piedra silenciosa... Ahora la mano ya no está en la piedra. Y la cabeza fue limada, desfigurada y corroída por el agua que la albergó durante siglos. ¿Cómo serías? Imagino que el escultor, sumiso a los clientes, las rutinas, los tópicos vigentes en la Roma de los Césares, copió de ti la apariencia banal. ¿Serías verdaderamente -no quedan rasgos que dejen comprobarlo- matrona dura que mandaba sus hijos a la guerra, que prefería muertos valerosos, soledad y desolación, antes que amor, calor y compañía de cobardes? ¿O tu rostro impasible revelaría otra verdad? Ahora no tienes ojos, ni siquiera de piedra, para que en ellos se refleje y cante el mar, el mismo que rompía en tus ojos humanos y te vestía de llamas azules. (A la orilla del mar ocurriría aquel amor). Un legionario, un soñador, un triste, a la orilla del mar... Y le decías: «Ráptame, llévame contigo, da a mi vida sentido y esperanza, olvido y horizonte, dale vida a mi vida». (El fingiría indiferencia cuando subías con ofrendas al templo. Y te abrazaba, enloquecía, te daba vida y muerte cuando estabas con él a solas.) El día que marchaste, dócil al lado de tu esposo, a otro sol y otra tierra del Imperio, lloró desconsolado el que era fuerza tuya. Te hizo un collar de lágrimas el que bebió tus lágrimas. (Esto debió de suceder en la Imperial Tarraco). Ahora no tienes ojos, ni siquiera de piedra. El mar y el tiempo los borraron. (Dentro del mar se pudriría aquel amor). Sólo te queda la impasibilidad con que te imaginaron para edificación y pasmo de los hombres. Jamás podrá la piedra albergar un soplo de vida. Y entonces, dónde ha ido tanta vida, dónde está tanta vida que la piedra no puede contener, no puede imaginar y transmitir. Tanta vida que fue la salvadora del olvido y la nada, ¿habrá muerto contigo? Cómo puede morir lo que fue vida. Quién puede asesinar la vida. Quién puede congelar en estatua una vida. Qué hay en común entre este bulto -pliegues rígidos y elegantes, rostro esfumado, manos mutiladas- y aquella estatua de ola tibia, aquel pequeño sol poniente, aquel viento de carne pálida, aquella arena palpitante, aquel prodigio de rumores: o que tú fuiste un día, lo que eres para siempre en un punto del tiempo y del espacio, en el que escarbo inútilmente con el afán de un perro hambriento.

71

El Matrona waits on the children of the earth to learn of the gate to heaven is through her, safe and ever open. It was placed on earth by her beloved. The youth on earth as well as all pure righteousness enters in to make the light grow ever stronger to unite the love of her life to her once again for all eternity. How she hungers for his touch separated from his being to aid man and others in there justification to their lord and god. The army is surrounding her to protect the temple of the one true god she will never change her course through time or dimensions but may turn to dust before the land turns back. Her love sustains her through out time, holding onto what she was given she lunges forward to her given task like a babe to the breast. Her heart weighs nigh as a feather for her joy is his return. The children gather round her with abundant laughter, giving her continuous hope running through her veins like sunshine in the darkest of night. Silent tears run across the valley of her heart like a fissure of stone rending sand through the hourglass of time in the mortal world which sends shivers down her body. Years pass as she now must age as a mere mortal no longer held at bay by the darkness befriended in the making of a soul readied for the task at hand. El Matrona now knows which way due north points and why it must be fulfilled. She has reveled it throughout out many lifetimes given her by the saints which now she has become. Even the terrestrials envies her station and must obey her king. T’is the year of the lord and all will feel the judgment of the shekhinah through the angel metatron. Ive been her long and haven given many messages unheard, all must listen now for we have not long to endure before the great changes occur. I say unto you Love is the greatest of all things believe in him that made you and he will save you, confess with your heart and mouth your sins, he will free you. Ask and he will give unto you the way. For I am the door to the way, reach for me and you will receive him for who receives me receives him that sent me. Peace be unto you all as love from the great MOTHER and WIFE of the KING lives and breathes in Metrona immortal.

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Nov 12, 2010

Nov 12, 2010 at 4:23 AM UTC

shekhinah-en-ka-mitt

El Metrona

El Matrona waits on the children of the earth to learn of the gate to heaven is through her, safe and ever open. It was placed on earth by her beloved. The youth on earth as well as all pure righteousness enters in to make the light grow ever stronger to unite the love of her life to her once again for all eternity. How she hungers for his touch separated from his being to aid man and others in there justification to their lord and god. The army is surrounding her to protect the temple of the one true god she will never change her course through time or dimensions but may turn to dust before the land turns back. Her love sustains her through out time, holding onto what she was given she lunges forward to her given task like a babe to the breast. Her heart weighs nigh as a feather for her joy is his return. The children gather round her with abundant laughter, giving her continuous hope running through her veins like sunshine in the darkest of night. Silent tears run across the valley of her heart like a fissure of stone rending sand through the hourglass of time in the mortal world which sends shivers down her body. Years pass as she now must age as a mere mortal no longer held at bay by the darkness befriended in the making of a soul readied for the task at hand. El Matrona now knows which way due north points and why it must be fulfilled. She has reveled it throughout out many lifetimes given her by the saints which now she has become. Even the terrestrials envies her station and must obey her king. T’is the year of the lord and all will feel the judgment of the shekhinah through the angel metatron. Ive been her long and haven given many messages unheard, all must listen now for we have not long to endure before the great changes occur. I say unto you Love is the greatest of all things believe in him that made you and he will save you, confess with your heart and mouth your sins, he will free you. Ask and he will give unto you the way. For I am the door to the way, reach for me and you will receive him for who receives me receives him that sent me. Peace be unto you all as love from the great MOTHER and WIFE of the KING lives and breathes in Metrona immortal.

1