Vida

Háblame con ese silencio tuyo, tan tuyo,
tan omnipotente…
Cállame en tus silencios
Porque me dices en una mirada el mundo
Que está tras las cortinas del alma.
Ahora, desármame en una palabra;
yo cuento las letras que leo en tus labios
Pero no las oigo,
Sólo siento que caminan sobre mi cuerpo
y me aplastan,
me dejo hundir por ellas
mientras siento el suave aliento que me abrasa.

Pero no te alejes si te callas;
Quédate,
Abrázame en tus vibrantes palabras sin sonido,
Que para mis oídos pondré en tu pecho mi cabeza
Que la canción del viento en tu cuerpo
Será la vida que palpita,
Tu aire,
Tu corazón,
Vida.

FORGOTTEN

Life is like a movie. You have shoots of the most important episodes of your pathetic existence, and then you leave them in a dusty box somewhere around. That should be your memory. You take the box once in a while, give the pictures a look, start crying, or laughing, -both maybe-, so you can tell you are alive after all that crap and that must be something remarkable… You are a fortunate one, you have your own movies theater and no need to pay, just close your eyes and do what you do best. Those are independent films. You’re not gonna be rewarded. You’re just gonna die and be forgotten –in the best case- after the death of those who remembered you, until the pictures are gone, eaten by dust, moths, oxygen, and life itself.
That’s life. A movie that only you can understand. But, at the end, something to be forgotten, as anything else.