I am who I am

It's me again. The one who speaks slowly, the one who no longer hates because he has already hated too much. I am the slow one and the one who is always late. I am the one who takes his pen on weekends to start to decompose the order of things and compose the infinite. I am the disbeliever of everything, the one who has forgotten his name and the one who hates comparisons. The simple one, the one who gets frightened by tragedies, the one who has thrown away the newspaper, but who trusts what people say and who finds no differences between them. The one who, for mot stepping on an ant, trips and falls flat on his face. I am the one who becomes amazed by a new word and treasures it as a gem.

I am the one who marvels at a foreigner when he speaks, as if spells or songs were coming out of his mouth, and the one who does the same when a peasant from a little town of the sierra speaks in a soft but indistinguishable language.

I am the one who realizes that time passes by and that it soon runs out, and who instead of using it wisely, throws it away. The one who finds that words also have a will and have a conscience, the one who knows that they escape from your lips without you noticing and that inside the head they roll and turn because they do not know how to be still. I am the one who writes poems because they are the key, the door to open broken, stubborn hearts. I am the one who reads the lines of others and who within them finds delights; because he knows that his words are long-suffering, that they were born from a fight between them.

I am who I am, the singular, the perfectible, the fool, the one who, like you, has decided to live alone, because he does not know how to get by with people. I am the one who doubts and the one who misses, the one who does not know how to add, who has forgotten how to subtract. I am the one who throws himself in the street to observe the stars.

I am the one who went to the school of life, but did not accredit any degree. The one who forgot what he learned and repeated mistakes ad nauseam, the one who didn't learn from someone else's experiences, because that doesn't count, the one who understands that you have to fall on your own to get hurt; although that does not guarantee that you will not fall again and that it will hurt you even more.

I am the one who has lost all hope to start looking for new ones. I am the one who is never satisfied, the one who easily falls and gets lost. I am the one who has not won any fight because he has not signed up in any battle. I'm the one who asks: "Please, leave me alone, because I'm fine like that." I am the one who is self-sufficient, for the little that he needs.

I am the one who understands well the order of the world. Who understood it from the beginning: How it moves, why it turns, why in its turn it takes us with it. I am the one who does not find a case for divulging the secrets that he has found, since every person shall understand what his or her role is in this world, and shall live according to it. I am the one who does not care if somebody else decides to throw away his life over the board... That´s his, her problem. Time passes and does not give guarantees. What you throw away ... It is not replaced, and each time you will have less.

I am the one who re-reads the same old book every afternoon, the one that starts:

Once upon a time there was a madman who used to write bad poems ....

  

      Love

Love to be blamed for

each and every tear of joy,

of every emptiness of sorrow.

 

Love to be blamed for

each and every nightmared night.

Love to be blamed for a perfect life

that suddenly disappears.

With the wind.

 

Love with unlike feelings.

Love of hate, love of passion,

love out of love.

Sacred love.

Painful Love.

Sweet love.

Love.

 

Love that cuts like a knife.

Love where every drop of blood

is an endless deep of sea.

Love that blindfolds you

like a longlife prisoner,

with no chance to escape.

 

Love that turns you happy.

Love that turns you down.

Love that turns you evil.

Love that turns you saint.

 

Love that makes you greedy.

Love that makes you cry.

 

Love that makes you weaker.

Love that makes you feeble.

Love that makes you scream.

Love that cuts you in pieces,

Love that you can’t resist.

 

Love that makes me love you.

Love that makes me

 

Mad.

 

Nancy Ramos - José F. Viveros

 ɷɷɷɷ ….  ∞∞∞∞…. ɷɷɷɷ …. ϰϰϰϰ …. ɷɷɷɷ…. ∞∞∞∞ …. ɷɷɷɷ