Alas Desnudas

¿A donde te llevan las alas rotas?
Sin titubear dime tu a donde.
Y es que las plumas no son como la piel.
¿Como las puedes coser, una a una,
Lentamente, y con dolor, a los poros?
Quisieras volar pero solo caminas,
Y sientes que todo termina en olvido.
Y la verdad no es que te falten alas,
Si no es que perdiste tus plumas,
Pero sigues así en una caminata fútil.
Con alas pero sin ninguna pluma.
¿A donde vas con alas desnudas?
Y sigues el camino con el peso
De saber que si tienes tus alas.
Pero a alguien le diste el permiso
De quitarte tus lindas plumas

(C) 1/23/2012

Unconditional Love

I have a bill in my pocket
With an expiration day attached,
A dream fully woven inside my head
In need of action before is too late,
A family that seems to care for me
Fabricated to validate existence,
A job with an, intricate, appealing title
For which I must work 40 hours a week.
I live in a fully conditional world,
In which people talk of unconditional love.
My dear friends, there isn’t such a thing.
A sweepstake might have fewer conditions
Than that of love, to which you may not realize,
You have bargained unexpected things for.

©October 3, 2011

Amor Con Libertad

Porque te amo intensamente
Eres más libre que el viento,
Libre como el amor que te tengo.
No necesito saber de dónde vienes,
Porque ese camino ya lo recorriste
No necesito saber a dónde te diriges
Porque en este instante estás conmigo.
No necesito explicaciones innecesarias,
Ni celos, ni rabia, ni ataduras asfixiantes.
Solo te necesito a ti, y a lo que tú me das.
No, no necesito, promesas que se rompen
Como un mecate expuesto al sol, después de tiempo.
Porque estas donde quieres estar, eres libre.
Y en el momento en que no quieras estar aquí,
Y sientas que estás perdiendo tu libertad,
No pienses en decírmelo, y continúa tu camino.
Que aunque me muera por recorrerlo contigo,
Seguiré dándote lo único que te puedo dar,
Libertad, libertad de ser, estar, y amar.

©2011 1:58 am

Here’s the translation in English but it just doesn’t sound the same.

Love is Freedom

Because I love you deeply
You are more free than the wind,
You are as free as my love for you.
Your traveled road is unimportant
For it is already traveled.
Your untraveled road is unimportant
Because on this instant you are here.
There’s no need for explanations,
Or jealousy, or rage, or binding contracts,
All I need is you and what you have to give.
No, I don’t need promises that break
Like the rope in the sun after time.
Because you want to be here, you are free.
But in the moment you want to depart,
And you feel you are losing your freedom
Don’t hesitate, tell me, and continue your travel.
Though, I may die to travel the road with you,
I will continue giving you all that I can give,
Freedom to be, to live, and to love.


Happy, happy
Like the Clown
Hiding the frown.
Happy, happy
Like the muse
Who’s feeling use.
Happy, happy
Like the Stripper
Afraid of her gatekeeper.
A world full of woes;
Where anything goes,
A beautiful masquerade.
Copyright © 2010

A Wasted Minute

I stand here today

Like Mr. Frost, I ponder:

Where do I go now?

There’s a south and a north,

There’s an east and a west.

There are places in between.

Stupidly standing here,

A mocking crossroad.

Time does not await,

That is the bottom line.

All the roads converge,

At the end, at the same point;

Different place, different time

Same ghastly destination,

Eternal sleep, perpetual life,

Reincarnated, at a heaven or hell;

Would a limbo world be better?

A similar fire, a similar hole,

Maybe even a similar casket.

At this point it doesn’t matter.

The done is done, the road,

The road here is traveled.

Solemnly a drum has stopped;

Culmination of a road traveled.

Copyright © 2010

The Author

Today I am sitting here, thinking about dreams, emotions, and life. In reality everyone spends time during sleepless nights thinking of such things. I know I do, especially today. Because I want to write, write with purpose. Then I pause to think, about the fact that every person that writes anything wants the same thing. I see it on social media, old books, and scribbles from four year olds.  It is the desire to be heard silently, without spoken words. Yet some are heard and some aren’t.  Who gets heard? The person that tries more than once, that’s who.

So I sit here today at 1 AM writing without an outline but with emotions, emotions that are only understood by been alive. Then you realize: That’s it! You are here alive, and you have no other choice but to live. Otherwise, you can just sit and wait for life to expire. You wait for death, or you can move forward and embrace it when it comes because you have lived.

Do I care if people understood what I wrote tonight? No, because I did and that’s who I wrote for. I have the right to write with purpose, simply because I am here, dreaming, alive, and with emotions. I am the master of my borrowed life, the author of my scribbles.  Another person that silently wants to be heard.