TIN SOLDIER

SHOOT, DON´T STOP,

KILL, KILL,

a blond sea of wheat somewhere,

maybe it was her hair, I don´t remember

DON´T THINK OF IT,

POINT,

KILL, KILL,

maybe she had a look of gull,

waves of open sea in her smile,

SHOOT,

DON´T MOVE,

CAN´T YOU HEAR ME?

and a rhythmic walking even in the rush

FORBBIDEN DREAMS,

RUN,

SHOOT

even the elm asleep repeated her name

and an infinite voice of creeper

POINT,

FIRE!

KILL!

and an incredible laughs of crystals

SHOOT,

DON´T STOP,

stigma of the bullet behind his nape

DON´T THINK OF IT, DON´T REASON,

DON´T FEEL,

KILL! KILL!!

 (And the nuts of the cranium exploded,

  peace could not be more timely)

   (From "Cemetery of sparrows")

The angel of childhood takes my hand

The starving dogs bark at the Moon,

a faraway cricket sings

the song of the summer.

The Moon rolls, foreign,

in silent slowness.

Facing the stars,

combining emptiness,

the world smiles at me

with his cadaverous face.

All the black cats,

those of their eyes on fire,

look at me with their immobile smile.

The lights of another village

Are blinking fearfully,

The stars promise

New magical spells

And a faraway invisible hand

is crossing herself.

I recover ancient myths of childhood

My hair grows past my neck.

Rectilinear, my hips get longer and smooth.

The curves of my breasts are gently erased.

My skin softens.

The road widens

And an invisible hand

settles on my forehead.

  (From "Cemetery of sparrows)

Captain Thunder

  Kites wake up on your temples
And you write to yourself with school letter.
With almost thirty years in your sleeve
you read again your book of dreams.

You lost your calligraphic skill,
the lie gave to you its blow of cane,
your ideals face to the wall.

Recite your lesson, Captain Thunder,
Rider on a rocking horse:
Sigrid divorced your past,
Crispín got lost in the way,
Goliath lives in exile under the ground.

You started the war of work,
Nude of protective armor,
riding, winner, on the sidewalks.

The adventure wakes up from time to time
And you put to sea,
Sail bodies.
You walk on the beaches of the doubt,
and hang your shirt on the clothes hanger.
On the distant comet of the ant.

   (From "Cemetery of sparrows")

PEACE

Peace is a girl by the fire,

Head on knees,

Under the gentle hand of an old lady

closing the girl´s eyes sweetly.

Meanwhile,

The large rubber of silence

Is roundly erasing the capital letters

of Love, Freedom, War…

to leave so only,

so only,

this little peace,

this love,

the freedom of stroke,

if you want to do it.

TOM THUMB

I never confessed to you

That what I told you about David was a lie

And Goliath,

The fearsome giant of my story…

That giants learn to be alone,

They are more vulnerable than children.

There are good giants crying at night

And evil dwarfs who kill sparrows.

   I never told you that I feared you grow

And discover

That there was no one

To hear the stories we invented.

Never told you that we, seniors,

Didn´t want to grow either,

Didn´t want to discover ourself

-half children and half adults-

in other different theatre footlights.

And you were transferring your role as a small boy

And one day, without stones

To return home,

-follow-bent on the sly-

in our street we found you,

around a corner,

around…

                  all.

      (From Cemetery of sparrows)

The wizard hat has aged

Time passes and one day we look back. And we realize that we have lost some important little things. Are they still in our lives? Are we still able to believe in magic?
"The lost fairy wand
was mowing our braids
and -the aged magician hat,
the mutilated magic-
we were looking for boxes-coffins
of our ancient tiny shoes,
(buried peter pan
stop
urgent)

The balloon seller did not recognize us,
the confectioner had retired,
the cheerful ice-cream man
and the traveling cinema
never returned..."


    Centuries ago I have not seen traveling cinemas. I loved the traveling cinemas. They used to come to the Old Square of my village. Are there still traveling cinemas?

With the incomplete puzzle

Now I republish my first book, "Cemetery of sparrows". These are some verses from the first poem:

"When we wanted to realize
the old cemetery of sparrows
was not in its place
and the angel of childhood
was crazy
with the incomplete puzzle in his hands".

Time passes and we lose people we love. Missing pieces in the puzzle of our lives. But life goes on. And here we are.