Somos todos, aunque no nos veas
entre las risas interminables y las canciones de nostalgia,
entre los días que se hacen semanas y las playas nacaradas,
estamos ocho aunque veas cinco;
Callejeamos resbalando hacia arriba,
por barrios tan llenos de vida
como de finales, y nosotros comenzamos por la mitad,
dibujando futuros, inciertos pero seguros
en nuestra unión familiar;
Arropados en el sol
cerca de un mar de idas y vueltas
lleno de bolsillos con momentos
intocables en su regocijo perdido
entre las llaves de casas y hoteles
y el cambio que vamos dando, juntos
entre abrigos y chaquetas, llevando vuestros brazos
por las ciudades donde vivo.
lunes, 20 de febrero de 2017
Now We're Eight
It's all of us, even if you can't see it
between the interminable laughter and the songs of nostalgia,
between the days that become weeks and the alabaster beaches,
we are eight, even if you see five;
We stroll, slipping upwards,
through neighborhoods as full of life
as they are of endings, and we begin in the middle,
drawing futures, as uncertain as safe
in our unity;
Wrapped in the sun
near a sea of comings and goings
filled with pockets of moments
untouchable in their exhilaration, lost
between the keys of homes and hotels
and the change we give, together
between coats and jackets, carrying your arms
through the cities I live.
between the interminable laughter and the songs of nostalgia,
between the days that become weeks and the alabaster beaches,
we are eight, even if you see five;
We stroll, slipping upwards,
through neighborhoods as full of life
as they are of endings, and we begin in the middle,
drawing futures, as uncertain as safe
in our unity;
Wrapped in the sun
near a sea of comings and goings
filled with pockets of moments
untouchable in their exhilaration, lost
between the keys of homes and hotels
and the change we give, together
between coats and jackets, carrying your arms
through the cities I live.
sábado, 11 de febrero de 2017
Tormenta en Portugal
¿Tierra de melancolías
mirando un mar helado, bajo su tierra
cálida y resbalosa; de donde sacan tantos colores tus caras,
cantando sin ánimo, pero llenas de vida,
hacia un sol que se esconde junto al viento
cada lenta mañana?
Storm in Portugal
Land of melancholy,
overlooking a frigid sea, under its earth
tepid and slippery; from where do your faces get their colors
singing without zest, but full of life,
towards a sun, hiding with the wind
each lingering morning?
jueves, 2 de febrero de 2017
Daily Oration
Good night each day,
between the four corners of my bed,
each for you;
each tear confused with the morning dew, nights
of terrors, and mornings wet drop by drop
and even more, with each honest smile-
those are definitely for you
for your wrinkles marked on my forehead,
between badly learned songs, begging
for you to come back, and harmonize with me,
but I know you are here, between each theater seat, each suitcase,
the music of your voice, supplicating me to save energy,
turning off lights and kindling my ideas,
creased hands, soft
with the tenuous smell of your clothes,
hidden between who I am, between each
piffle, each doubt and all my faith;
guardian angels- that's why you taught me to pray,
to assure that today
I could talk to you,
between the dusk of a stage and this dream,
each morning, between the sheets
of this imagined bunkbed.
Oración Diaria
Buenas noches cada día
entre las cuatro esquinas de mi cama,
cada una por vosotros;
cada lágrima confundida con el rocio de la mañana, noches
de pesadillas, mañanas mojadas gota a gota
y aun más, cada sonrisa sin complejo-
esas si que van por vosotros
por vuestras arrugas marcadas en mi frente,
entre canciones mal aprendidas, rogando
que volváis a entonarlas conmigo,
pero se que aqui estáis, entre cada butaca y cada maleta,
la música de vuestra voz, suplicando que ahorre energía,
apagando luces y encendiendo mis ideas,
manos rugosas, suaves
con el tenue olor a vuestra ropa
escondido entre quien soy, entre cada
disparate, cada duda y con toda mi fé
angelitos de la guarda- por eso me enseñasteis a rezar,
para aseguraros que hoy,
pudiera hablar con vosotros,
entre las tinieblas de un escenario y este
sueño, cada mañana, desde las sabanas
de esta litera imaginada.
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