Chetanapridhivi Where Are They Now

Like water flowing into the sea ... Karesansui

The sea smiles in the distance.
foam teeth, lips
sky.

Like water flowing into the sea ... I

along the path:
dreams with my luggage, strapped to her shoulder
life as a guide

heart and hope among paths
hidden ice.

What do you sell, oh young
cloudy with topless?
Sir, I sell
water of the seas.

Like water flowing into the sea ... I

revealing secrets, lies eroding

thousand channels opening
wearing new doubts on the move

fracturing
mirrors

What are you, oh, black youth,
mixed with your blood?
Sir, I carry water
of the seas.

Like water flowing into the sea ...


Your memory will float in very small pebbles

battered piling up in my eyes basin
you lighted
singing and today have been silent

Those tears did brackish
where they come from, mother?
weep, sir, agua
de los mares.

Como agua que corre al mar...

Se mezclan pesar y dicha
y en los brillantes destellos
se despedaza la luna
de insomnios y de desvelos
de pertinaces certezas
y obscuros presentimientos

Corazón, y esta amargura
seria, ¿de dónde nace?
¡Amarga mucho el agua
de los mares!

Como agua que corre al mar...
Food
wetted my secrets

words drown my thoughts
the skin is covered with scales
and filled the eyes of salted sorrows

The sea smiles in the distance.
foam teeth, lips
sky.

Like water flowing into the sea ...

When it comes to the oceans
my voice sings siren
removing ghosts conjuring seaweed

found a treasure
between phosphorescent algae.

___________________________________________________ The poem, which echoes my voice is
"Balada del Agua de Mar", de Federico García Lorca.

Action Replay Charizard

In my case, loneliness is something like a wood folding
carry wherever I go and extend it around me when I need

Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Sometimes sólo a veces...

Retirarse no es rendirse,
ni estar en contra es agredir.
Cambiar no es hipocresía
y derrumbar no es destruir.
Estar a solas no es apartarse,
y el silencio no tener qué decir.
Quedarse quieto no es por pereza,
ni cobardía es sobrevivir.

Sumergirse no es ahogarse,
ni retrocedes para huir.
No se desciende trastabillando,
ni el cielo ganas por bien sufrir.
Y las condenas no son eternas,
ni por perdones vas a morir.

A veces, sólo a veces...

needed to achieve loose,
hoist the sails, abandoned,
let it flow, the wind changes,
close your eyes and mute.

How To Make A Pvcsausage Stuffer

CHARRO ES SER SER MEXICANO (POEM)

"The day disappears charro in Mexico, the national soul will have taken a step back beyond repair" Francisco González León

NOT RUN OUT THIS RACE
Dolphin Sánchez Juárez



stares ahead Jarano under the wing of the ruling
riendilla sinister black and white mane
chess, with a mustache that looks Arriscado
frank smile without challenges or surprises
About Saddle often embroidered a stem and
piteado which left a goldsmith art carvings.

rejoice spur his horse over
In dilated nostrils, hair dappled road, tail and mane
cascade hardened hull width
Raises cloud of dust on roads and fields
A leading figure who is present and past.

is the king of the open field, the long horizons
of the winding creeks with broken roads, the dense
The mountains, the pastures of clubs:
The bulls that imprisons the end of his rope.
who drove the spear when called chinaco
who uploaded the 30-30
be revolutionary who left the homeland to become a soldier
every time the country returned to hear the claim. None

missed the meeting, each according to his years
from grandfather to the now saved chozno
pictures stored in temples and relics of saints.

is the essence of the earth, is the cry campirano
Symbol history, is the centaur, is the charro
Gale winds sweeping the mountains, coast and plains. Four directions are
variants panache;
are all one, one in each box.

centuries in the lost, forget it
years the generations pass without fanfare, no changes in blood and keep
harness, what changes is the horse,
stronger, better planted. Old

blackened silver hardware
old shafts in the chaps with the use polish
hide many secrets, the passing of many hands,
the pull so many queues and pial dripping. On

so many dreams, many nights the rains
cocks in jorongotantas
sometimes crashed near a gate in darkness with half-closed shutters;
whispers that took the wind path of bell ringing
for a wedding, in compliance the term. Viejas

provincial streets still retain their cobblestone
erased because it echoes in its stones were recorded for strong gallops
Echoes, echoes of stealthy steps;
Lopes tough war, furtive lovers.

For fields, streets and squares still passing the charro,
is not one, there are thousands who come to his side
riding like riding through the countryside Messrs. Van galloping
in the sky and shadows of the past, shrouded in fog shadows
profiles defendants. Hats
piloncillo, breech of chinaco,
of them have shafts that we monatmos,
breasted old, beautiful chairs clubs,
the blanket of the gala, which is running almost
because of its plot overlooking the I remember the years.

That does not end this race of men on horseback
not spur star, not the belt buckle with a wide embroidered
silver and aligned cartridges;
not these chaps that smell of man and horse.
No one pachuqueña or pants
campirano
That does not end this race suit Cachirulo
man goes inside, old or young, the charro
For women in that dream, that if he dreams of being mounted
that if you kiss is hidden under the hat Haran;
that if it comes to the window
see your eyes reflected in polished brooches that time and reflected different eyes.

That does not end this race because it smells of field, color
all the heavens, the sun of all States,
murmurs of drinking, rivers, tanks and pits
The heat of the deserts, the cold of the highlands and the charm of the plains. That

continue as they have been, or worse or more saints,
or rougher or more gentle, and arrogant and humiliated,
More romantic if you can because that never hurts;
keep vices and virtues such as inherited;
vice is virtue when it is proper and not copied,
when it comes from far away, when it is customary of old;
Virtue becomes vice when it becomes cloying,
when it is presumed, when carried in a frame
how the proclamation of a fair or as a simple claim

That does not end this race of men on horseback
O to end I first, and do not touch me weep

leave this beautiful poem to complement the subject matter in "short", my other space.