Alicja Maria Kuberska       
Poetess, novelist, journalist, editor. She was born in 1960, in Świebodzin, Poland. 
Now she lives in Inowrocław, Poland.

In 2011 she published her first volume of poems, entitled: ‘The Glass Reality’.  Her second 
volume ‘Analysis of Feelings’ was published in 2012.  The third collection ‘Moments’ was 
published in English in 2014, both in Poland and in the USA.  In 2014 she also published a 
novel – ‘Virtual Roses’ – and another collection of poems ‘On the Border of Dream’.  Next 
year her volumes entitled “ Girl in the Mirror “ was published in the UK, “ Love me “ and   
“(Not) my poem” in the USA .In 2015 she also edited anthology entitled “ The Other Side of 
the Screen”. In 2016  she published two volumes – Taste of Love in English and Thief of 
dreams in Polish.

Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, the USA, 
the UK, Canada, India, Italy, Israel  and Australia. She is awarded Polish poet. Her poems are 
noticed abroad too. She was the featured poet of New Mirage Journal (USA) in the summer of
2011.  Her poem ‘Train’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2011.  In 2014, her poem 
was mentioned in the international competition, Nosside.  In the 2015 her poem “ Thief of 
dreams” won the medal in Nosside competition .This year also poem “ The dance on the dew”
was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She was the featured poet of magazine “ The year of 
the  poem “ March 2015.

Alicja has written 8 monodramas and a play for teenagers.   The monodrama ‘Cousin’ won the
first prize in Kołobrzeg in 2013.
Alicja is a member of the Polish Writers Association in Warsaw.  She was one of two editors 
of an artistic-literary quarterly journal ‘Metafora’, published by Miniatura.

(Not) My Poem

I wrote a few words and secured them permanently.
Reflections and emotions created the stanzas.
I uttered the final sentence, 
and my poem moved like a zephyr,
Kissing my lips lightly as he left, gliding away to strangers.

He slipped into eyes, where tears are born. 
He whispered tender words to hearts 
and they faintly shivered.
He pricked dormant consciences, 
made stale by daily routine.  
He consoled a sad lady, Melancholy.

At night he soared skywards 
parting heavy curtains of clouds. 
The stars glistened over illuminated moonlit paths for lovers
The tender song of a lone  nightingale 
echoed around the dark abyss 
and sank softly into swooning scents of flowers.

Sometimes my faithless lover returns
- beloved son of the muse, but child of mine no more


A Philosopher and a Poet


they met between heaven and earth
at the place where time and matter are irrelevant
at a higher level of abstraction
they overcame the barriers of the real world

he brought a white canvas and philosophical maxims
she brought the paint brushes 
and a handful of dreams in words
they painted the picture in many shades of blue
they poured their thoughts and feelings into the ether

he sketched the outlines of life with a bold navy blue line
she filled the background with gentle azure brushes.
together they added a few colorful spots of astonishment.
his eyes are hazel and hers are green

Tree and I

with my body, I am near to the roots
with my thoughts, I reach the longest branches
I soar towards the sun
I caress the green canopy

the tree records years in its rings
warm-cold, dry-wet
and I record emotions on a piece of paper
sadness-joy, love-loneliness

we are dear to each other
often, I embrace its trunk
maybe it will remember the touch of my hands
rustle with memories


Among Stars

I wait for the downpour of stars,
Maybe I have time to whisper a wish.
I look with hope to the Leonids.
I believe that I will see the falling sparks.
The dancing Pleiades stirred up a cloud of dust.
Jealous Orion will not overtake them
And Sirius will not find the seven nymphs.

Morpheus leads to the land of sleep
Somewhere on the edge of the River Styx.
My beloved knows the secrets of existence
And all the metamorphoses of the cosmos.
Every night he carries me in his arms
And gives to the possession of Apollo and the muses.
 He plaits visions into prophetic premonitions.

Berenice sacrificed her golden braid to the heavens.
She explains sadly,
That she has not found happiness on Earth
Among the gods and among stars.


Lost Data

I'm standing on an empty street accompanied by a cold wind,
which throws about pieces of paper and foil airily.
Rain drops whip my face and hands.

Darkness woke up windows of local houses,
their yellow eyes look at me with hostility.
I'm not going home, all addresses are unfamiliar.

Thoughts like a frightened flock of crows  fly around my head.
I don't remember anything – fear chokes me, suffocates me.
I don't belong to anybody, loneliness drags me into oblivion.

I don't know my name and where I come from,
where I will find a safe shelter.
My handbag, the guardian of privacy, shut its mouth.

I have no documents.
I have no money.
Keys to an unknown door glitter.

Your touch woke me up.
Regained consciousness shouts out my name.
I repel a bad dream from under my eyelids.






























Mohamad Chadi

Né le 17 octobre 1968 auCaire. Poète, écrivain dethéâtre, journaliste,photographe, metteur en scène de documentaire etchercheur dans le folklore,il est diplômé de la facultéde communication del’Université du Caire en 1995, département des relations publiques et depublicité. Il est membre del’association indépendantedu cinéma (Indie Club) auxEtats-Unis. Parmi sesouvrages, citons Loghaesmaha wattan (une langue qui s’appelle la patrie),publié en 2002, Bahsan ani(en me cherchant), publiéen 2008, et Hadith fil-echq(paroles d’amour). Il aparticipé à 17 expositionsprivées et collectives dephotographie en Egypte, aux Etats-Unis et auMexique. Il est lauréat du prix de la Journée mondialedu tourisme en 2007.


Paroles d’amour - Autobiographie d’un cœur
Paroles d’amour
Sur les traces des vers d’Ibn Arabi, le jeune poète Mohamad Chadi fait rimer ses vers intitulés Hadith fil-echq (paroles d’amour. Autobiographie d’un cœur). La voix soufie s’y mêle avec la passion primitive d’un Adam et d’une Eve.
Paroles d’amour
Sur les traces des vers d’Ibn Arabi, le jeune poète Mohamad Chadi fait rimer ses vers intitulés Hadith fil-echq (paroles d’amour. Autobiographie d’un cœur). La voix soufie s’y mêle avec la passion primitive d’un Adam et d’une Eve.

Paroles d’amour
 
1
Elle me regarde dans les yeux
Je m’évanouis
Je la regarde dans les yeux
Je me vois …
Qui sait
Si un jour viendra
Où je me verrai dans ses yeux
Un sourire qui ne s’évanouit pas ?
Car ses yeux
Possèdent la magie de l’aventure.

2
Les nuits veillées qu’ont-elles fait de mal ?
Pour qu’elles soient détestées de ceux qui dorment …
Veiller la nuit c’est les yeux des gens levés
Les cantiques du cœur
Le recueillement des adorateurs de Dieu
Les louanges du soir
La vibration de l’âme et du cœur
Un battement dans le cœur de la nuit.
Pourquoi alors les absents nous envient ?

3
Les amoureux ont un hymne à eux …
Un amour ardent est le murmure.
Des larmes dissipent tout l’être
Une étincelle … supérieure à l’ardeur du soleil.
La félicité
Est à ceux qui glorifient
L’amour.
Mon extase …
Les larmes aux yeux
Resplendissants.

4
Au nom de l’amour
Le cosmos s’est révélé à eux
Alors ils n’ont pas égaré leur chemin.
Y a-t-il des heures prévues pour s’unir ?
L’univers …
Ou bien le dévoilement intérieur
Est-il le secret des errants
Dans la lumière
Du cœur.

5
D’où vient
L’enchantement de ceux qui partent ?
Est-ce le désir de l’absence
Ou bien la présence
Est-elle une absence
Dans le miroir du cœur ?
Et d’où venons-nous
Si nous n’accomplissons pas un pèlerinage
Dans les yeux que les larmes ont épuisés.
Nous avons les yeux suspendus au ciel.

6
Félicité aux enfants du ciel …
Amoureux sans regrets
Marchant sans pieds
Saignant en absence de sang
A eux la béatitude
Si le ciel révèle ses secrets.
C’est alors avec leurs larmes
Que disparaît le néant.

7
Je suis impatient de trouver une étoile
Immuable
Dans le corps céleste de l’extase.
Elle connaît parfaitement l’art de la danse
Sur les vagues.
Elle accorde sa compagnie
A un passant
Qui adore la révélation
Des secrets.
Sur le bon chemin
De sa magnificence,
Avec des larmes.

10
Ses yeux ont le secret du chant
Quand ils cueillent la mélodie de l’amour
Du saule de l’âme
Ils transforment le cosmos en une musique
Qu’ils jouent sur les cordes du cœur …
Pour des anges qui aiment la danse
Sur le rythme de ses larmes.
La danse du royaume des cieux.

11
Qui sait ? Ce qui est aux larmes et à l’âme
La délicatesse de la lumière
L’éclat des perles cachées
Le raffinement d’un souffle
L’agrément de la confidence.
Est-ce qu’on peut se procurer des âmes
Par les larmes ?
Ou bien y a-t-il simplement une Indulgence
Pour le départ ?

17
Il s’est demandé
Comment l’esprit deviendrait néant ?
Elle s’est demandée comment
Existe le cœur ?
Quand leurs yeux se sont rencontrés
Dans le ciel
L’annonce du dévoilement intérieur
A rayonné.
L’amour
A illuminé leurs yeux.

18
Quand elle lui donne son regard
Il s’en va cherchant
Dans le ciel
Elle lui demande
Ce qu’il cherche ?
Son émotion se répand
Pour lui répondre.
Il entend dans son cœur
« On verra »
Elle comprend quelle est la place
Qu’il lui a accordée en lui.

20
Il t’est donné de la chanter
Tu peux en faire une prière
Tu peux l’invoquer
Un secret … des secrets du ciel.
Et pourtant tu ne pourras pas
Traverser des Voiles
Pour atteindre son goût de la passion violente
Même avec un immense
Pouvoir.

21
Quand elle t’appelle
La vie se grise en toi
Quand elle visite ton nom
Ta poussière tremble
Et s’élève
L’eau a-t-elle alors
L’adresse de sa maison
Ou bien ses yeux ont-ils
Des secrets
Que la tristesse a fait pousser
Comme des plantes bénéfiques.

22
Tu fermes les yeux
Et tu ne la vois pas
Tu ouvres les yeux
Et tu ne la vois pas
Tu te révoltes.
Car peut-être tu ne sais pas encore
Quelle est la volonté de Dieu.
Il l’a gardée
Pour les pauvres.

23
Je suis une des lettres de son prénom
Un peu de l’aspiration d’un désir
De son dessin à elle
Un peu d’amour
Scintillant comme des perles sur son front
Quand passera le temps d’une vie
Ceux qui ont la connaissance me rappelleront
Un secret caché
Que la ville m’a porté
Sans
Une ombre
Pour l’abriter.

25
Quand il l’a rencontrée
Il fut trouvé
Quand elle l’a rencontré
Elle a souri dans l’acceptation sereine
Il a regardé dans ses yeux
Alors il a vu son lendemain
Il a fermé les yeux
Sur son image
Et il a espéré
« Aujourd’hui j’ai accompli … »
Avec ses larmes
Elle a embrassé ses yeux.

28
Comment fondra la neige
Sur une montagne
De jasmin ?
Comment s’embrasera le feu
Dans une mer
De parfum ?
Mille fois comment
Qu’il doit apprendre à connaître
Mais il possède une parfaite connaissance
De comment cacher son visage
Dans ses yeux
Sans pluie.

29
Il a demandé son cœur,
Celui qui a la connaissance a dit
Je te l’apporterai.
Quand elle a su son amour
Elle l’a cru un abîme
Elle a révélé le fond de son cœur
Ses paroles l’ont fait sourire
Elle avait dit : Mon Dieu, j’ai causé du tort à moi-même
Quand j’ai dit : Il semble que c’est lui
Il a regardé dans ses yeux
Il a dit : Ceci est une grâce de Dieu.

32
Ils l’ont vu
Dans ses yeux à elle
Ils l’ont désavoué.
Ils l’ont vue
Dans ses yeux à lui
Ils l’ont désavouée.
Quand le Royaume a accueilli un amour immuable
Ils ont été oubliés.
Ainsi vous avez vu les signes de leur amour
Et vous les avez oubliés.
Et aujourd’hui encore vous oubliez.

43
Le voyage
A un chemin et un compagnon
Et une carte des routes
Et un viatique, des malles et un livre.
Et un ami,
Est-ce que vous marchez
Sur le même chemin assombri par les nuages
Ou bien tous les chemins mènent-ils
A lui ?
Pendant que vous avez choisi le voyage
L’un suffisant à l’autre.

47
Ses yeux possèdent
L’ardent désir du dévoilement intérieur
Le plaisir du goût exquis
L’éclat de la passion
L’agrément du regard
La lumière de la contemplation.
Et ton cœur possède-t-il deux ailes pour s’unir
Ou bien l’existence
A travers la présence divine de ses yeux
Est le but auquel aspire ton cœur, ce disciple dévoué ?
Sur son chemin de la progression.
Traduction de Suzanne El-Lackany



Jeton Kelmendi (born 1978 in Peć, SFR Yugoslavia) is an Albanian journalist, poet, translator and political analyst.

          Kelmendi has written poetry, prose, essays and short stories. Kelmendi is also a regular newspaper contributor in Albania and abroad, where he writes about international cultural and political issues. Jeton Kelmendi became well known in Kosovo, after the publication of his first book entitled: The Century of Promises (Shekulli i premtimeve), published in 1999. Later he published a number of other books. His poems are translated in more than twenty two languages and published in a few international Literature Anthologies. He is one of the most translated Albanian Poets. According to a number of literary critics, Kelmendi is the genuine representative of modern Albanian poetry. Jeton Kelmendi is considered by the great Albanian novelist Ismail Kadare –nominated for several years for the Nobel prize.  Jeton Kelmendi has some poems dedicated to important Albanian personalities
as Mother Teresa (Living Beyond Herself) and Ibrahim Rugova(The Winter Of Great Despair).

   He is a member of many international poetry clubs and is a contributor in many literary and cultural magazine, especially in English, French and Romanian Languages. The wisdom of his work in the field of Literature is based in the attention that he pays to the poetic expression, modern exploration of the text and the delpth of the message. His Gengre is focused more on love lyrics and elliptical verse intertwined with metaphors and artistical symbolism. Kelmendi is a veteran of the Kosovo war led by
the Kosovo Liberation Army, 1998-1999. He resides and works in Brussels, Belgium.

Me And The Word Kissing On The Lips


© Jeton Kelmendi

Albania - Belgium

With the view of the day you attacked in me

With only you I just confronted you
In the lap of my age I always wait
With my lips I kiss the word on hers
We see each other in our eyes

My flower

The aroma of my taste
A day filled with nature
Just like your curly hair

Like your lips

Like the moon
That whitens the night

A bulb of the season

My flower
My Spring


Your Face With Golden Eyes Is Appearing

© Jeton Kelmendi


Today autumn can get full with the night

The moon fell in the window

The best

Verses
I will write for you

Maybe you are asleep

My best lady friend

Before you reached

Ten and ten
I sing for the verse

The word has plenty of night


The clock

Passed midnight

The sky descended on verses

And in the sparseness of the stars
Your face is appearing
With Golden Eyes

Just like in ancient times

“From that ridge I threw my eyes to you”.
Sophie Kinsella novels have been translated into more than 40 languages. Here some tips for being a best-selling author  
  
1. Always carry a notebook

Carry a notebook everywhere and write down everything that springs to mind, even if it doesn't seem relevant at the time. You can do a lot with a passing thought or a little bit of overheard dialogue.
Get into the habit of looking at life like a writer and writing it all down. Don't worry about what "it" is going to be yet, just write it down as a habit. Because then, when you do have your big idea and want to write a book, you'll already be used to that process and have material to work with.

2. Think "what if" and read

Start to see the world in a "what if" way and keep your possibilities for a story. Teach yourself to take a tiny little nugget of substance and extrapolate and tease it out into something else, have fun with it and see the potential.
It can seem tiny and insignificant but if you can sense the grain of a story there and keep your mind open to those possibilities, you will constantly come up with new ideas.
Reading is vital if you want to be a writer, it's essential. I've been a bookworm ever since I was a child, I was the type who would read a cereal packet over and over rather than make conversation at breakfast!

3. Write the book that you want to read.

People often think that they should write to please someone else, whether it is to please the audience, or critics, or a readership. My instinct has always said that you can't second guess anybody else.
What you can do, is think if you were a reader, what would you want to read? One way to visualise that is to go into a shop and imagine the book that would make you want to grab it off the shelf.
The chances are that if you would grab it off the shelf and be excited to read it. then other people would too. So always start with yourself, write something that will please you.

4. Don't talk about what you're writing

I am very secretive when I'm writing a new book. I think that writers are very fragile, they're like butterflies or perhaps moths; they can be easily crumpled. If you're very sensitive, which I am, it only takes a raised eyebrow or a chance remark about an idea for you to lose confidence in it.
I think it's much better to let these things gestate in private, that way you can be free to try stuff out without any fear of being judged or worrying whether it might not work. The minute you put it out there and ask for opinions from other people, it will just get in the way of your creativity.
The only person I let read my work when I'm writing is my husband and we've had this arrangement long enough that he knows what not to say! I think a work in progress is a very precious and nebulous thing and it can be easily destroyed so protect it!

5. Forget about genre to find your voice

I think that one of the hardest things as a writer is to find your voice. See what you enjoy writing, because let's face it, you're going to be spending a long time in this zone, it had better be something you enjoy and something which you can do.
Don't be afraid of a few false starts. I once tried to write a thriller and I remember my agent saying that the plot was ok but that all the characters were far too nice. I'd written about all these nice middle class people walking around killing each other!
Don't sit there thinking what genre should I write in, perhaps you'll invent a whole new one! Instead, start off by thinking I'm going to write a story and wait for other people to put it in a genre. What you have to do is find your story and find your voice.


6. Just get to the end

It's the hardest thing and it's the most important thing because so many of us have ideas for books. The first stage is actually write it instead of just talking about it, and the next stage is to keep going until you get to the end.
Everybody, no matter who they are gets to the middle of a book and thinks crikey, I've had enough of this. You get bored with your story and your characters, you hate them all, you can't think why you started this wretched story in the first place.
The truth is, every book is hard to write, everybody reaches a wall, whether it is a plot hole or a scene that you can't get past. So you've just got to get to the end. Even if it's not the greatest draft, if it needs rewriting fine, at least you have a book to rewrite.

7. Walk and drink cocktails!

Everybody gets stuck. I find cocktails very helpful! And that's the truth, if I get stuck, I'll go out with my husband and we'll order cocktails and talk while we drink them. By the end of the evening, we've always ironed out the knot.
I find it loosens you up and also it turns it into a fun project, there's nothing worse than sitting grimly staring at a screen, you must get out.
The other thing to do is go for a walk, walking seems to free up the cogs of the brain like nothing else. You can sit at your desk for two hours, feeling wretched because you can't find the solution, then you give up and go for a walk and it comes to you straight away.

8. Plan your books

For me, the planning stage is vital and it takes months, if not years. When I'm writing a book, I do it in my office, but when I'm planning a book I like going and sitting in coffee shops. I like the buzz and I like being surrounded by people, but remaining anonymous.
I write my plot points on file cards and Blu Tac them to the wall. Then I stand back and look at the terrain of the story and decide whether I like it and if not I can just move them around. I find that very satisfying - it's a bit like doing a crossword puzzle!
The truth is you can plan and plan but during the story, something will change, that's just the way it is. But I find starting off with structure and a beginning, a middle and an end is vital.

9. Get a great agent and consider a pseudonym

I think I've written 20 books in total now and I've always had the same agent. Having an agent, for me is the best thing I've ever done, because she's guided me, she's been a friend, she's dealt with all the business side of what I do and I wouldn't have known where to start without her.
There are lots of advantages to having a pseudonym. It gives you a bit of privacy so you can have an official name and a home name. And I don't think there are many careers where you can just completely reinvent yourself every so often - it's wonderful.

10. Write the next you

Everyone has got a story to tell and everyone can learn and improve their writing. There are some elements of writing which can definitely be taught, a sort of craft and you should always try to learn and improve. I am still learning with every book.
I don't see why anybody shouldn't write a book. There is nobody who is not interesting in this world, so why shouldn't they tell their story?
You write what you write. You can't decide to write a certain book, I believe your writing finds you. So don't go thinking, I'm going to write the next Da Vinci Code or the next Stephen King. Write the next you. You are going to be the next big thing!

By Alison Feeney-Hart

Amazing oil portraits of the artist Serge Marshennikov honor the inherent beauty of the female form. Combining hyper realistic techniques with his instinct to convey the beauty of the women he painted, Marshennikov has made a good name in the art world.







































































































































  General Rules:
  1. The competition is free to enter and poems can be of any length and on any theme.  
  1. Individuals enter 2 poems, short biography and 1 profile picturesend us only a selection of your very best. 
  1. Your work is accepted on the basis that this will be its first publication anywhere in the world. Each poem must be the original work of the author  and must not have been previously published. 
  1. Poems must be in English. 
  1. Poems will be accepted from anywhere in the world. 
  1. Competition entries cannot be returned under any circumstances.  
  1. All postal entries must be post-dated on or before the  
 25th December 2016. Late postal entries will not be accepted. 
  1. By entering this competition, entrants agree that their poems and data may be used for publishing in The Soflay Anthology 2016 and for research purposes. 
  1. The judges’ decision is final. 
  2. All poets also conserve the copyrights of their work.
                     All the rights mentioned above. 
       Send your details on  
       Email: Publications@soflay.com ,  info@soflay.com  




Alicia Minjarez Ramírez 


Biografía

Poeta, traductora, cantante,C.E.O Soflay International Inc., locutora de radio y Televisión. Nació en Tijuana Baja California, México. Ganadora de una mención especial en el Premio Internacional de Poesía NÓSSIDE Italia 2015, reconocido por la UNESCO. Galardonada con el Premio Internacional de Poesía otorgado por Pentasi B. World, África, Ghana 2016. Considerada entre los poetas internacionales publicados en el libro:

Literatura Mundial del siglo XXI presentado en Nueva Delhi, India 2016. Sus poemas han sido traducidos al Inglés, Albanés, Camerunés, Árabe, Chino, Portugués y Francés. Han sido publicados en más de 30 antologías, diarios y revistas a nivel Internacional. Sus
poemas han sido leídos en recitales de poesía en varios países y transmitidos en programas de radio nacionales e internacionales.




Cántico de Luna
Moon Chant

"En este poemario, la escritora Alicia Minjarez Ramírez, nos entrega la simbiosis de la luna en abrazos con su poesía manifiestamente femenina, de sugestión onírica y erótica.

Con claridad su feminismo muestra independencia y una fuerte personalidad."

Dr. Ernesto Kahan

Premio Nobel de la Paz de 1985

AMANTES

©Alicia Minjarez Ramírez

La añoranza mitiga
la ebriedad de la noche,
atesora la impronta
abolida del deseo
que nos quebranta
y acerca,
hoguera intrínseca
de profanos versos
en la intriga
de las sombras.


La añoranza mitiga
la ebriedad de la noche,
atesora la impronta
abolida del deseo
que nos quebranta
y acerca,
hoguera intrínseca
de profanos versos
en la intriga
de las sombras.
en los huecos frutales
de epígrafes gastadas.
Leyenda imprecisa y nítida
de anocheceres venideros,
ladrándole a la savia del suspiro.

Desquíciame, sedúceme, condúceme.
Cual consonante que se abisma
en la retórica de la memoria,
dialecto que trastoca y encadena
más allá de las manos.
Exhalación
de la demencia sin cordura
lapida mi nirvana terrenal,
entretanto te pertenezco
bajo el recóndito
vidrio del silencio…
Al rozar la espiga
de tu tiempo.


VIAJERO

© Alicia Minjarez Ramírez


Aprisiona mi espacio
la brisa redentora,
llueven estrellas
en palabras olorosas,
en la media luna
la sal conspira
tu existencia
fugaz y duradera.

El aire azul revolotea
las húmedas notas
de tus vértices,
que ascienden
por la esencia
de los árboles.
Sonidos guturales
en la mancha
del horizonte.

Te intuyo
en el murmullo
de las hojas
que diluyen
líquidas sombras,
trozos imaginarios
de palomas,
música lumínica
en el sueño que forjamos.

Te encuentro
en la premura
errada o acertada,
en la voz incesante
de la lluvia,
hermoso viajero
de pasos oníricos
y brazos de fuego.
Ahogada en el vapor
perfumado del deseo
anochezco
en encinos forasteros,
cual tacto que produce
tu sendero,
páramo oscuro
del antiguo cielo
reinventa
tu vocablo de luz,
en la cópula
ilusoria
del lenguaje.

LLUEVE

© Alicia Minjarez Ramírez

Un dejo de nostalgia
pretende anunciarse,
como esa brisa
que emigra
en el aire.

El agua impregna
mi cuerpo
tu aliento inunda
el contexto.

Largos secretos
que el viento
sacude en lontananzas,
después la nada.

Camino rezagada
en la humedad
que dejaron las gotas
debajo de las ramas.

Las aves se desprenden
de sus nidos,
buscan
¡el refugio prometido!

Repican las campanas
de la iglesia,
afuera interrumpe
la noche.

Ansío secarme la lluvia,
como esos pájaros
que agobian
los árboles
en el atardecer
de los parques.

Me invade
la quietud de tus ojos,
¡alas extasiadas
inmovilizando su vuelo!
Al pie de mi silencio.



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