I’m lost in time.
My ages are attacking me all at once.
Confused, I try to escape to a place of quiet,
Where noise is no more
(Outside, the Earth keeps on orbiting the sun,
Another revolution, another day goes by)
Inside I reside in my jail of stillness,
I don’t want to live nor write,
To spew the poison of despair back into the world,
“You are doing so by existing,” is the message of the voice.
“Were you not supposed to tell me something else,
Something pretty or edifying?”
The voice smiles. I’m too tired to smile back…
As the river that once ran through me turns into a dribble,
Barely moistening the dry land through which it runs,
No, this stream will not turn into a river,
No, this forest is not black.
We are in an arid desert, where winter only gives respite to heat,
In the summer days, all get expeditiously dry
My tears, my hanging clothes,
My willingness to dance.
(Wanderer shoes caress the road,
unwilling feet to touch the ground,
One day the nakedness of soles,
Will grip me firmly to this land.
Between cracks hiding in the desert, moisture escapes up to…
I could read all books on mindfulness, positivity, self-achievement.
I could watch all YouTube videos on psychology, listen to Krishnamurti for hours, or to Cabral.
I could go and meet Jesus and Buddha. Hung out with them for hours, and I’d still be this man I am.
This handful of hormones and thought. Way too much thought. Enough as to tame the hormones I hold.
These ideas of unquenched desire. No. Not that desire. But the desire of being and becoming. The desire for perfection no mortal should achieve, except in slim moments of eternity and present.
We are who…
As I open my eyes,
I see this pandemonium.
The demons dressed in beauty
Spewing silky noxious words,
What has became of me
and my poisonous tongue?
I see bulls all around me,
But they are no more than sheep.
No. Not even that. Like dogs,
Chasing their tails, are
Infatuated with the scent,
Emanating from their arse.
And their God is only silent,
They forgot of how to pray,
While their lips move and their faces,
Constrict in impious impossible ways.
Why have you forsaken us? They cry, not even to the wind or sand, They seek to fight…
A voice is all I want to be,
All I aim to be,
All I ambition to be.
A voice with a set of ears
attached to that voice
or a listening device
And to learn to be quiet
to the reflection of the voice
the other voices
accompanying me in this journey
Because who cares about the time,
when all we have is present and present, all we have?
A voice. Because if you look at time right into its eyes expanding far, far, far away into the eons and billions of years…
I went on snooping into the past,
But about airplanes and airports, I wanted to write.
But for some reason, I cannot fathom (nor understand),
A name from my past came to my mind.
Some girl, I cannot remember, did I have a crush or not now,
If that is the case, should I call it a crush?
If it is a crush, you ought to tell yourself,
One day with this person, a life I want to share,
But I cannot remember, nor I really do care,
Tonight, when I dream, I travel by air.
Maybe the past I…
There is this three thousand or so words story I have been working on for about a year now. There are sections not even me, the author, wants to read. So dry are those sections it needs major fixes to work. What kind of person would make any other soul read that kind of work?
Any excuse is valid to avoid working on it.
Then, there is the kitchen, the ever-growing pile of dishes, needing constant attention. I need to wash them if I do not want them to take over the kitchen and the house. Yes, I do the…
I believe that there are places where to go to a person must ready body and soul.
Some places talk about a sacredness, a silence, a refuge where the pilgrim rest and stops.
At times the traveler finds itself unworthy and is wary of entering. So sacred is this place.
The traveler asks, ‘What is this place? Where is this very hour in which we find ourselves?’
‘Who is you, who is me? What are these contemplations, this pond where we rest and pause?’
‘Why do you care for explanations,’ you asked me from the gate. …
If I could hold on time while in my hands,
As a friend and not this tyrant, spreader of lies,
Telling me when to birth and when to die,
Or when to go and walk.
If I could hold it and stretch it and compress it like a god,
To listen to all the songs, read all poems, kiss all lips, hear all stories,
If I could hold time just like that, time would be the lucky object,
About which now, I would write.
But instead, all I have is a bicycle taking me places near and far, To one…
Am I a robber, an intruder,
Into your private world going?
But you invited me, you said,
Let me take you into my world,
Are your words, roots of the world?
Towards the ground growing?
At first sight, I am enamored,
with the contour of your lines,
Voluptuousity sinuosity intertwine,
lustfully in my mind,
Messages I cannot fathom,
As my eyes in your caligraphy pause,
Your words hold stories without end,
How many Earths to bind a hundred sons?
If you hold me against your bosom,
I will learn from the secrets of your tongue.
©Pablo Pereyra 2021. …