sábado, 29 de noviembre de 2008


I hate me,
I hate my whole life
'cos I'm not
what I'd like
to be.

I'm just a poor lonely girl,
a lost forgetable poet
and no one loves me,
and nobody takes care of me
'cos I'm nothing,

I whisper from the wind.

I go to nowhere
and nobody cares.

lunes, 24 de noviembre de 2008

A little "tale"

Once upon a time

there was a little child

who never went out of his house

because he lived in a raining land,

and it was called Ireland:

"My Land, Our Land, Ireland"

A sorrow

A sorrow, a sorrow

burns my soul,

a sorrow falls into the abism

of our forgotten love.

And now,

in thie early morning

in which I can't sleep

I cry

when I remember that goodbye

you told me

the night when I died

last time.

And your hand, which I held strong.

Don't leave me, I need you,

I begged.

Don't leave me, I love you,

I shrieked.

But you were no longer ther,

but you're no here either.

And now,

in this early morning

in which I can't sleep,

I beg you again,

Don't leave me, I miss you,

don't leave me, come back.


The sad aria in the dark night,
vain fog of dumb glowworms,
is quiet for a moment.
A thousand of stars bright,
one thousand more could bright
but a lantern stops their smile.
I listen from this stone
the river flowing, the current, life jingle,
and under this peace
a sweet fear to suffer,
or viceversa.
The bookworms fly over the nearer bushes branches
and I remember "panta rei"...
This verses will die with me
but the river will continue flowing,
continuing the current that he makes since so long time ago.

I smile.

The sigh of the wind

The leaves fall down,
they fall down
on the golden dawn
of blue and green lights,
of singing dawns.

And the leaves sleep,
they sleep,
yet the wind sigh not.
The golden evening,
the autumn evening,
falls down.
And the leaves sleep and die,
they disappear between
fairies` dust.
There are no more leaves furrowing
the dawn,
not even laughing or
singing dawns.