poems

I am not sad anymore. I am not weak or tender or quiet like you remember because the second you said those words and closed that door, I sold my soul to the part of myself I had buried in order to love you, to let you touch every inch of my rotten body, for I wanted to be touchable and not so strange. Not so sad and tender, like I__e always been, they say, so I changed. And then your glances and words throwing knives with no return about my change of habits and ways of living, being, and I nodded and smiled, dying silently a little bit inside.

in the endit is wordspoetry. sunsetssomeone__ deep blue silk voice.mountain scents.someone__ smile.eyes. that we haveno defenses against.

Gazing from the moon, we see one earth, without borders, Mother Earth, her embrace encircling one people, humankind.

They are both spectacular, Life and death.

While gazing at myself from yourself, I was beautiful.

Through everything I have passed but nowhere I have been.

We will go far away, to nowhere, to conquer, to fertilize until we become tired. Then we will stop and there will be our home.

I travel, always arriving in the same place.

In greatness, life and death merge.

One hand I extend into myself, the other toward others.

Long ago we conquered our passions looking at ourselves in the mirror of eternity.

Mathematics doesn__ care about those beyond the numbers.

He will understand when it is too late that it is easier to love.

And this that you call solitude is in fact a big crowd.

Instead of imitating me, you simply loiter.

What you gain here, you lose on the other side.

My mathematics is simple: one plus one = one.

In the biggest and the smallest I sleep but at the same place I stay.