Fantasma tachonado de caminos - Phantom studded with roads - 365 days of poetry challenge-Day 101

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¡Saludos, Weku!
Este poema forma parte del Desafío de 365 días de poesía inspirado en la foto propuesta, muy amablemente, por @kimi a quien agradezco la recepción y el apoyo. Esta es mi entrada 101 y espero les guste.


Greetings, Weku!
This poem is part of the Challenge of 365 day of poetry inspired by the photo proposed, very kindly, by @kimi whom I thank for the reception and support. This is my entry 101 and I hope you like it.

Fantasma tachonado de caminos


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La puerta del alma medio abierta:
por allí te exilias del ardor del día.
Más acá serías como un fantasma
tachonado de caminos, miradas y vacío.
Incesante herencia de crepúsculos,
revives el agua, el eco transparente,
mágico y caleidoscópico.
Pero el reino de tu cuerpo tambalea,
cierra el libro.
Nace el enigma, la evidencia de vida
y habla el silencio, estás adentro.
Estás presente y se me abren tus caminos
de fuego y tus depuestas armas de luz.


Ave impalpable, ave amor
naces en cada instante en alas de palabras
y tu arcilla se hace trizas en oídos de piedra.
Se quiebra la voz del ave por una turba desatenta,
agonía del mensaje en las entrañas del agua.
Al filo del abismo, abro los ojos a tu luz
¿Son estas sombras el vaho de tu verbo?
Devuélveme a la niebla del ángel,
a la noche animal. Déjame el alma,
tu silencio, tu verbo y mi asombro.


Phantom studded with roads


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The door of the half-open soul:
there you are exiled from the ardor of the day.
Here you would be like a ghost
full of roads, glances and emptiness.
An incessant inheritance of twilights,
you revive the water, the transparent echo,
magical and kaleidoscopic.
But the realm of your body staggers,
the book closes.
The enigma is born, the evidence of life
and the silence speaks, you're in.
You are present and your paths of fire are open to me
and their weapons of light, deposed.


Impalpable bird, love bird
you are born at every moment in the wings of words
and your clay crumbles in stone ears.
The voice of the bird is broken by an inattentive mob,
agony of the message in the bowels of the water.
On the edge of the abyss, I open my eyes to your light
Are these shadows the mist of your verb?
Return me to the fog of the angel,
to animal night. Leave me the soul,
your silence, your verb and my astonishment.



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Written by Zeleira Cordero @corderozeleira.

16/02/2019


Photo by Mar Bustos on Unsplash

Photo by Mar Bustos on Unsplash

Separator:
Cat
Simplemente Gracias

For your kind reading... Thanks!

6985591ee86eebb8920d6ce133a86550 simplemente gracias (2).jpg

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