Somewhere in Providencia

Esta isla del tesoro perdida y olvidada en el inmenso océano es para ti

Categoría: Literature

Like rats

We live like rats.
Crammed into our holes
Refugees in our sewers
Waiting anxiously what
The crumbs reach us from some dunghill.

We live like rats
In a shipwreck looking
Drowning in the open sea
Stepping on the small and weak rat
Leaving behind his remains
So that lagging rats
Devour them to the bone.

We live like rats
In colonies of thousands of members
All the same,
With the same thought:
Live one more day
Forgetting our condition as infected beings.

We live like rats
But we live.

Do we really live?

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Micro Trilogy – Little World

I

It was a small and insignificant world ravaged by snowstorms and torrential rains where the wind seemed to always drag an eternal sob. One could safely affirm what was the saddest enclave in the universe. Even with that oppressive atmosphere, it was the only place he could call “Home”.

II

He lived locked in his small and melancholy crystal world until the immensity of the universe that turned beyond its transparent walls made him fall face to face with the cruel reality by breaking the fragile barrier that isolated him in a thousand pieces.

He thought: “Freedom is not synonymous with happiness”

III

Sometimes, in the loneliest moments, he would lose his gaze on the distant horizon and let the thoughts travel to the past, to his crystal ball. He who had been his home and who could never return.

His last vision was a sad and lonely snowfield dyed with grays. Those who saw him die say they never saw such a sincere smile.

The Contract

Sign here, here and here
All ready

The mansion is yours
The luxurious new vehicle
That yacht moored
And the private Jet

Hereinafter
You will not be short of women
Of generous breasts
And disproportionate butts

You can travel wherever you want
Eat the best dishes
Drug, drink or play
You will never lack balance in the bank

Believe me, you signed
The best contract
The most experienced commercial says so
They do not call me for nothing

“Devil”

I’m waiting for you

This new moon night
You can not fall asleep
There’s something in the shadows
That project the slits of the blind
That oppresses your insides without compassion

Reign the silence
But in your ears
Strange unspeakable whispers
They reproduce at intervals.

“Look under the bed

“I’m waiting for you”

You look under the bed
There is nothing

Nothing?

In the epicenter of the darkness

A huge eyes watch
And a mad grin
That simulates a hideous smile
Wishpering

“I’m waiting for you”

“Do not you want in this lonely nightSent my hug?”

Your body convulses
With the foggy mind
The muscles following another
They will stretch your trembling arms
To the impenetrable darkness
An icy touch grabs you
Pull tightly from your wrists
And drag you
Where your cries of pain
They sound empty and muted
And the crunch of your bones splintering
It dilutes between inaudible whispers

“I was waiting for you”

“Now we’ll rest together”

Balance

Reign the calm
The most absolute calm
The sky dappled with clouds
Is paralyzed
It is a canvas that varies
Light blue to red flame
It burns on the horizon
After monumental silent mountain ranges
Immutable in their eternity


A flock of ducks in formation
Point to a distant direction
Your destiny there far
Where winter does not exist
High
Very high Where the view just reaches
Vapor lines are intertwined
Or chemical trails
They weave a dawn
Another sunrise


Everything is in balance
The air Its breezes and strong winds
Water leaping in ethereal waterfalls
Grass The thousand-year-old forests
And further
At incomprehensible distances
The universe

What can break this perfect balance?

They called him a monster

Since he could remember the whole world he referred to him as “monster”. It is possible that it was because of the amorphousness of his physical complexion, his disturbing features, because of the unhealthy pestilence he gave off, because of the unnatural tone of voice he had when emitting any type of sound or a mixture of all those unpleasant characteristics.

The day he devoured He lived his first victim and enjoyed the cries of despair and the taste of fresh blood he knew with certainty that it was not an unfounded nickname.

Under a cold winter sun

He looked at him in the distance
On the other side of the road
Sunny or snowy
Day and night
For his image, he sighed

Sad life of lovers
What they see in their yearnings
An impossible utopian
Well, by destiny’s designs
Their bodies are motionless
And they are separated
At the mercy of the whims
Of cyclic stations
And a dusty road

But the roots are deep
And his unstoppable desire
And they stretch until they caress
And interlace

Icy winds blow
They sow their slender stems
And to the sound of his incessant whistling
Under a cold winter sun
They extend until they hold on
Its skeletal branches
To form when weather conditions
Knotted to their bodies and souls
New green shoots
Flowers of delicate colors
And fruits of a thousand flavors

The key

As a child I found an old rusty key of strange bas-reliefs hidden in a hole under a rotten wood in the attic.

Year after year I searched obsessively for the lock that kept the secrets that the key served me on a silver platter. I traversed until the extenuation the most forgotten sites, the most hidden ruins and the most ungodly temples, but the search seemed to be in vain until one night of new moon hit me with the gate.

It was through the darkest gallery of an ancient crypts devoured by time in the dim light of a torch. At the end of a corridor covered with  spider webs a heavy stone door carved with twisted figures from other eras. The same twisted figures that shaped the precious key that accompanied me always chained to my neck.

The key fit perfectly in the keyhole. It turned with the creaking and shuddering of heavy gears, and the door opened ceremoniously with the creaking of its hinges and a cloud of dust. When the dust dissipated, the discovery of what was on the other side horrified me.

It horrified me and I fell in love. That’s why my last conscious acts were to lock the door behind my back, undress and surrender to the cold embrace of the throbbing and obscene darkness that had been locked there for eons waiting for my arrival.

Crossing between stars

Lights in the distance
Dancing lights in the dark
What gives life to diffuse shadows
Shadows under lonely feet
Like yours or mine
Lights that blink and turn off

Could it be stars?

Lighthouses that guide the forgotten
Hiding the most unknown fears
Fear that goes from our hand
As faithful and violent dogs

Lights that are left behind
After passing quickly by your side
Followed by one more
And another …

Does anyone else feel them?

Lights visible from space
Splashing the globe
Like a disease
That is infected by the look

Have you ever seen the stars?

A grandfather asks his grandson
We travel between them
Although such a useless knowledge
This condemned to oblivion
Like you
Like me
How the world what
We know

(Or that we once knew)

The flower

It was the most beautiful flower in the garden
The most colorful
And I a bumblebee after his pollen
After its aromas
After its flavors
Eager to carry the end
With me your nectar

More as usual
In idyllic stories

(Libidinous by nature)

I ended up locked in his trap

(I fell without compunction)

Glued to its soft and moist touch
While being devoured
For his thirsty and hungry mouth

(Well, the honey that I could lick from his lips deserved it)