Tuesday, December 26, 2017

the darkest night, we celebrate

It's cold and dark outside
let's go inside.
The darkest night starts.
We think that the light bulb will give us the needed light,
but we're struck to realize that the darkness doesn't go away.

We go back home, to see mother, father,
sisters or brothers, 
real life friends and foes,
who, like mirrors in the morning, show us our real face.

Suddenly, we see ourselves, vulnerably naked.
Conflicts, reactions, deep conversations,
real joy,
frank confessions or hypocrisy,
even fights and unbearable internal anguish,
all come out too clear to deny on that mirror of the other. 

Alone at home, there is no difference,
the empty space, the surrounding silence,
the long solitude hours, 
are also mirrors that reflect our real face.


As the sap goes down to the roots,
we too travel deep down inside,
looking at the essence of our being:
who am I really?
why my mother insists in the bread being perfect?
why my brother keeps drinking so much?
why my sister's on the phone in that corner?
why dad is always giving me advice?
why she's always ignoring me?
why do I react like this? 
why don't I care more?
And all the whys you can ask.

Some wonder if the holidays are celebration
or torture.
We are expected to do things,
we have to decorate,
we have to buy presents,
we have to cook this and that,
we have to go there,
they have to come here.
One way or another, the darkest night
touches us all with those emotions we've been avoiding all year long.
Still some others close down to them...
too painful to feel them.

If we choose to pay attention,
and allow ourselves to crack open, 
so the light gets in,
we may distill a purer sap to give life next Spring.








Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Fin del día - End of the day




Fin del día


El estanque tranquilo 
hoy esconde desazón bajo el agua.
cardúmenes y familias de tortugas,
y los sueños ahogados hace tiempo,
se agitan en el fondo.

El otoño deshoja mis ilusiones gastadas
Y el viento se lleva mi última esperanza.
El cielo encapotado de gris
Me abriga con su gélido manto
En mi jardín las flores ya se han muerto
Y no hay trinos que me despierten de madrugada
una carta que no llega es también un mensaje
de silencio helado que me inverna el alma.

La cansina letanía del tic tac en el reloj de la casa
me desdibuja el tiempo y el espacio de la espera
otro hoy que será pronto ayer,
pero mañana ya no llega.
 Un río de tristeza se me escapa
y me inunda de agonía.
Los pájaros y las Monarca migran escapando al frío,
los topos se enrollan en su nido bajo tierra,
pero cuando se cubre de hielo el alma,
y al corazón se le destrozan las alas,
la sonrisa apagada
¿adónde va a parar el amor que no se entrega?



End of the day


The still pond today is hiding
an underwater turmoil.
Schools of fish,
families of turtles,
and the dreams that have drowned long ago,

are simmering inside.

Autumn strips the leaves of my withered illusions,
and the wind takes away my last hope.
The sky overcast with gray
covers me with its icy mantle.
In my garden the flowers are already dead
and no trills wake me up at dawn.

A letter not arrived is also a message
of frozen silence that brings winter to my soul.
The weary litany of the clock ticking in the house
blurs the time and space of my waiting,
another today that will be soon yesterday;
but tomorrow never arrives.

A river of sadness runs out and floods me with agony.
The birds and the Monarch migrate,
escaping from the cold,
the moles are rolled tight in their nests underground,
but when the soul is covered with ice,
and broken are the wings of the heart,
the smile faded...
where does the unexpressed love go?