L'Assente
parlato di V. de Moraes

Amica, infinitamente amica
in qualche posto il tuo cuore batte per me
in qualche posto i tuoi occhi
si chiudono all'idea dei miei
in qualche posto le tue mani si tendono,
i tuoi seni
si riempiono di latte, tu svieni e cammini
come cieca ad incontrarmi...
amica, ultima dolcezza
la tranquillità ha addolcito la mia pelle
e i miei capelli. solo il mio ventre
ti attende, pieno di radici e di ombre.
vieni, amica
la mia nudità è assoluta
i miei occhi sono specchi per il tuo desiderio
il mio petto è un tavolo di supplizi
vieni
i miei muscoli sono dolci per i tuoi denti
e ruvida è la mia barba
vieni a tuffarti in me
come nel mare
vieni a nuotare in me come nel mare vieni ad affogarti in me, amica mia,
in me come nel mare.

Posted on Sunday 20 of April, 2008 [16:32:36 UTC]

Tu risa

Quítame el pan, si quieres,
quítame el aire, pero
no me quites tu risa.

No me quites la rosa,
la lanza que desgranas,
el agua que de pronto
estalla en tu alegría,
la repentina ola
de plata que te nace.

Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
con los ojos cansados
a veces de haber visto
la tierra que no cambia,
pero al entrar tu risa
sube al cielo buscándome
y abre para mi todas
las puertas de la vida.

Amor mío, en la hora
más oscura desgrana
tu risa, y si de pronto
ves que mi sangre mancha
las piedras de la calle,
ríe, porque tu risa
será para mis manos
como una espada fresca.

Junto al mar en otoño,
tu risa debe alzar
su cascada de espuma,
y en primavera, amor,
quiero tu risa como
la flor que yo esperaba,
la flor azul, la rosa
de mi patria sonora.

Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera,
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría.

Posted on Thursday 20 of March, 2008 [06:16:54 UTC]

POEMA 14

Juegas todos los días con la luz del universo.
Sutil visitadora, llegas en la flor y en el agua.
Eres más que esta blanca cabecita que aprieto
como un racimo entre mis manos cada día.

A nadie te pareces desde que yo te amo.
Déjame tenderte entre guirnaldas amarillas.
Quién escribe tu nombre con letras de humo entre las estrellas del sur?
Ah déjame recordarte cómo eras entonces, cuando aún no existías.

De pronto el viento aúlla y golpea mi ventana cerrada.
El cielo es una red cuajada de peces sombríos.
Aquí vienen a dar todos los vientos, todos.
Se desviste la lluvia.

Pasan huyendo los pájaros.
El viento. El viento.
Yo sólo puedo luchar contra la fuerza de los hombres.
El temporal arremolina hojas oscuras
y suelta todas las barcas que anoche amarraron al cielo.

Tú estás aquí. Ah tú no huyes.
Tú me responderás hasta el último grito.
Ovíllate a mi lado como si tuvieras miedo.
Sin embargo alguna vez corrió una sombra extraña por tus ojos.

Ahora, ahora también, pequeña, me traes madreselvas,
y tienes hasta los senos perfumados.
Mientras el viento triste galopa matando mariposas
yo te amo, y mi alegría muerde tu boca de ciruela.

Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí,
a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan.
Hemos visto arder tantas veces el lucero besándonos los ojos
y sobre nuestras cabezas destorcerse los crepúsculos en abanicos girantes.

Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote.
Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado.
Hasta te creo dueña del universo.
Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues,
avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos.

Quiero hacer contigo
lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.

Posted on Thursday 20 of March, 2008 [05:27:23 UTC]

Bop bop.

Care about the moonlight
and holding you tight
and asking my questions.
Everyone loves a situation.

Long walks on the beach.
The press will impeach.
Lately I'm finding
I am the book and you are the binding.

I guess they'll read everything about you.
Though the press might shoot me down I'm still true.
I sell my book for free. That's what you do to me.

Oh, you are my family tree.
Be good to me
Take care of me.

Bop bop.

There's hotels in the sea,
Trash in the sky.,
The net-dustry's growing.
Stick to love songs kid, that's all you're knowing.

They push you away
or tie you up.
It don't really matter.
But if your head is up you won't get much sadder.

But who am I to preach a word or two
when I can't lift my own head without you?
If my mental state kept you from coming around
I hope the world would shoot me down for losing you.
A broken branch I'd be if you weren't grown to me.

Oh, you are my family tree.
Be good to me.
Be good to me.
Be good to me.
Take care of me.

Bop bop.

Posted on Thursday 20 of March, 2008 [05:03:42 UTC]

There's a story about Franz Kafka wanting his stories: The Stoker, The Metamorphisis, and The Judgment to be put into one volume called The Sons. So I was sitting around one day surfing the net reading about the K and thought I would do that with three of my stories which are very similar in themes and topic. The first one is Kaddish for Saddam Hussein which was posted at muslimwakeup.com. The next one is The Existence of Nabil which was published at Struggle Literary Magazine in Detroit and Muslimwakeup.com also. The last one is Darling, It was an Uphill Battle Loving You, which appeared at 3AM Magazine. The last two are in Ciao! Miami. The first one has never been published in bookform until now. So I hope you like this new slim volume that will not take too much of your TV WATCHING TIME. I will post more about The New Americans later.

Posted on Friday 14 of March, 2008 [17:01:18 UTC]

I was reading the Miami Herald today, and there was an article about Tom Wolfe coming out with a Miami novel. I've never read Tom Wolfe. All I know is that he wears white suits and that they made a really awful movie about one of his books. And I think he was part of the Merry Pranksters. I really think that you have to have grown up in Miami to even begin to understand it- let alone write about it. Miami is too complex for an outsider to write about. Therefore, i think the book will suck. And if you read the article, the book kind of sounds like a Carl Hiasen novel. Russian mob plot? and a white looking Haitian? I mean come on! In literature, you should never trust names, only BOOKS.

http://www.miamiherald.com/top_stories/story/386577.html

Posted on Monday 21 of January, 2008 [06:00:40 UTC]

Sasha Grey wearing Smut.Error - The plugin {ATTACHMENT} was given the parameter id=80786 which is not valid.

Posted on Monday 31 of December, 2007 [04:22:21 UTC]