Leaves

It is maybe the name
Coming from them.
Their own last
Showing us, scaring travels
Of live lacks of lasting.

Today I have seen them,
They have felt down
Continuing what should be.
Tomorrow everything would change:
Me, you, them, and us.

They leave,
And one of them leaves.

It is the moment to stop
And ask for the bill.
She says, “…”
That is a way of saying goodbye.
A sort of hidden love
Walks away from any possibility
Of following her dreams.

She runs away of feelings
Trying to discover something
She has had always inside.

It is the season, the end,
The time to stand up,
Open the door and continue walking.

The only way to say how much we love
It is the amount of them on the streets
They are beginning their weep.
We are putting inside
And do the same without saying anything.

The end comes with the winter
And there is going to be this nostalgia,
‘Saudade’,
Emptiness of knowing that we lost
The opportunity of a second of love.

This is it:
Leaves.

Lluita amb arc

Si pel camí trobes murs
Tira'ls
Si a la nit trobes núvols,
Boira i no veus
Bufa fort i espanta la teva por.


De les coses que ens amoïnen
Hi ha a l'abast formes de enderrocar-les,
Desfer de vegades és
Una mena de lluita contra un mateix,
Un farà que la llum surti,
Escapi i estigui bategant
Com el plugim d'aquest nom
Oblidat mentre als dits
S'arrela alguna cosa certa.


La veritat és un segon endarrerit
Pel que nosaltres buidem
Els budells de tota mena d'odi.
Ens entenem per a saber que no sabem res,
Perquè així podem lluitar altre cop
I començar de nou
Amb l'ànima plena i els ulls
Mirant allà
A on surt l'arc de Sant Martí
Per arribar a on acaba
I comencen les nostres forces.

Double You

I hear my dream on you.
It amuse me when destiny laughs
With its clouds changing the forecast.

You and the bass double in words,
Each row makes you walk
Through the line.
They tune you for a second
In the middle of the book.

What I have for you is mine,
But yours.

It belongs to this moon
And its light cords.
The bow and the pizzicato
Are lost in Moses’ sight.

There is just this score
That I cannot read.
A song with shared feelings
Needs to be rehearsed.

What I have for you is mine,
But yours.

I give it to you
Because feelings like words
Should be delivered.
If they do not we loose them.

I cannot afford it, not this loose.
It belongs to us:
Double…


* This poem was supposed to be as an inscription of a gift at Patrick Süskind's book The Double Bass.

Reminder

There are streets, graves, and churches
Reminding me
The place where once, you were
The hidden part of your story,
Is it right?
Is that the beginning?

I have seen my own doors open,
How everything changes,
But now it reminds me your silence.

You shout in that part of the silence.
I feel it in the skin of each pen,
Over the paper where your eyes lay blind
There is everything.

You cannot hide it,
Is there and I can see it.

What matters now is not what I have discover,
Now you can open your eyes,
Look at everything with pride
And show me what hurts.

Please, I remind you that we are humans,
We were leaves once and tree after it.
Now, we are just here with the box open
And the voice shouting its own silence.