Tragedias

II

Suplico.

Silencio. 

Distant Warmth

Falling to the ice of the atlantic

For going in search of distant warmth.

Heavy heart.

The mind scream. Do not think it.

All will be well

Falling to the ice of the atlantic.

The wind shook the world, the time was up. 

This is how it ends.

Free fall.

Beat of the waves.

For going in search of hidden warmths that only glow after gold offerings. 

Little fickle of lights.

Sailing to empty harbours,

But it's freezing here,

With the dead and the rot

And the midnight sun.

That the promise of the desert,

and its warmth, seemed worthy of the pain of the burnts.

And this wind blows so hard, dismantling all the metal around. 

It doesn't carry prayers anymore, only the promise of turning me into the nothing I am. Deep down the seabed, in a plundered ocean with  nothing left.

The fear of the death,

Coming suddenly, and accepted.

Where I go, no one waits for me.

All ends here.

And all will be well.

    

 Crack of dawn,

Wake up, pulse on the mouth.

Bloodied lips.

Get up again.

 Y ya no se correrme, 

sin el ritmo de tu musica, 

y el fantasma de tus dedos. 

Tragedias

I

Circe invocando los vientos que alejan, 

y alargan esta Iliada. 

Alas quebradas, derretidas, cara secandose en pieles dormidas. 

Y despiertas, 

Heroidas llorando. 

Quizas me encuentres, si grito, si me rompo la voz, si me quiebro la garganta. 

La oscuridad que retrasa el viaje,

El camino de vuelta, la niebla, las noches de luna muerta. 

El rastro de espadas de cobre. 

El Sol de las Hesperides, años luz de este reino de musgo y brezo, 

donde no llega calor ni brillo, 

donde el frio se carga en los huesos. 

Qué dejó la espera de camas vacias, de dormir helado, y de vacio cerrado? 

Tormentas contra los Acantilados de la Locura, viajes a Gigantes dormidos. 

Las botellas gastadas, solo el veneno queda, 

la cicatriz y la herida malcosida. 

Quizas me encuentres, 

navegando esta tragedia de siglos de marcha y batalla. Quizas los dioses contemplen alguna clemencia. 

Sin tripulacion ni quilla,

sin viento en las velas.

La luz espera. 

Pacts with Devils

Written in infernal and with blood, 

the pacts, the demons, the lies

But you don't win this battle.

The chains break. They're cracked. 

Your heart, ripped off an open chest, where nothing lived, the rot consuming way before your death. 

Offered sacrifices to break the pact with demons. Accepted and burned. 

There is a dance macabre celebrating this victory. A small one, a last one, the end of an era of battles. 

Narcissus drowned on the lies of salvation and hopes of better worlds. Oh how I love your dead seed, your murdered children and my hands covered in blood. Oh how close I was from the broken and the mad, how liberating to win the wings out of this inferno of bullshit and torture minds. The spirit grows, iluminating the whole ascend to a world in ruins, but alive, where you cannot reach, the walls built for the first time in the strongest stone, it will resist the strongest winds, fiery curls dancing on it. 

The last time I pronunced your name. Your first death. The knife and sand burying fast. The Nothing left behind. The Blessed Nothing. 

Outer walls

The only part of the city that is known.

The slums and cranky parts just outside. 

Where the poor and the broken hides.

The  glances of high towers and shining domes, far away.

After these outer walls,

Sleek with blood, from so long a battle.

The old soldier has seen the core of the stronghold. Never more than a glimpse, always too weary to secure positions. 

We pray for conquest.

We hope for victory.

But the war might continue,

Violently crashing against carved stone.