jueves, 26 de octubre de 2017

Untitled poem number two

I

If I saw a mighty deer
how my eyes could not to shine?
so I take this words as mine:

"wherever I go I fall in love"
"wherever I look I see my soul"

If this noble chord I hear
you don't need to ask me why
how my eyes could not to cry?
so I sing to open sky:

"when sailing in bravest sea"
"my quiet heart don't want to flee"
"when trembling with cold and fear"
"a warming song I always hear"

II

If I saw a tender dove
how my heart could not to love?
so I vow this only time:

"When hardest days arrive"
"I will give you my five"


When noble art I hear
how my soul could not be here?
so I vow for this last time:

"When darkest days arrive"
"I will see you and smile"


III

When I see those shiny eyes
how could I not be in love?
so I shout to open skies

"Wherever I look I see my dear"
"wherever I go is always here"

When I look with naked eyes
I can see you in the skies
how my soul could not to fly?
so I vow one more last time:

"When fair days arrive"
"I will be at your side"

jueves, 11 de agosto de 2016

Poema sin título

Un alma vuela, al encuentro
Qué inútilmente busca,
 pues no ha de hallar sino
lo que le está destinado.

Las almas afines se reconocen en la oscuridad
El silencio interior nos lleva al sitio adecuado.
Así se está en armonía con el mundo.

Un alma vuela.
Cualquier sitio es el adecuado.

Si permaneces en silencio
escucharás que te llaman
y siguiendo tu corazón, acudirás
siguiendo tu naturaleza, acudirás

En el silencio
las almas afines
se encuentran

Así se está en armonía con el mundo

Si sigues al silencio
te llenarás de sonidos

Así el mundo vive en su naturaleza

Cualquier sitio es el adecuado
si permaneces en silencio
Cualquier sitio es el silencio
Cualquier sitio es el encuentro
Cualquier sitio es cualquier sitio
Así el alma vive en mundos

El Sol late su rayos
la nube aspira
Pájaros al encuentro
siguiendo su naturaleza
Pájaros al encuentro
siguiendo su corazón

Un arcoíris de ojos surca tu boca
y te silencia
Un arcoíris de besos surca tu alma
Un silencio te atraviesa

Pájaros en tus ojos
Arcoíris en tus ojos
Alas en tus ojos
cantan el silencio

Pájaros que acuden
siguen su silencio
vuelan su canción
se llenan de arcoíris

Un alma vuela al encuentro
Qué inútilmente busca
pues no ha de ir sino
más que a cualquier lado

Un arcoíris de almas
vuela en silencio

Así el mundo vive en sí mismo

Pájaros al encuentro
Corazones al encuentro
Almas afines que se llaman

La luna aspira y late su canción
El silencio duerme

Así la naturaleza despierta en el mundo

Los ojos se iluminan
los labios se mojan
los pájaros secan sus plumas
los colores estallan.

Almas afines, que se buscan

Luces al encuentro
Sonidos al encuentro
Mundos que se llenan de armonía.

sábado, 30 de julio de 2016

Alma's little story

Alma's little story
(Dedicated to Alma Deutscher)


A very young girl heard a song once in the town. The song was so sweet, so deep, so full of emotions, that, astonished by this wonder, she turned to her parents and asked: 'how can music be so beautiful?'

I don't know what her parents said, but they must had been struck because she was so young (maybe only three!) to make such a deep question. The question kept open (there are certain mysteries in this world, that will never be solved) but she quickly learned to make music with the violin and the piano and she played as if she was born to do that!

Some time after, fiddling around in the park she met a new friend. But not a child. Not a girl nor a boy. Not a person at all. No, not a cat either. Not a canary. Not a dog. It was just a rope. Yes, a rope! A skipping rope. A purple skipping rope to be exact. Actually a magic purple skipping rope to be even more exact. Indeed I think that the rope was alive inside. It didn't talk, but when she waved it around in the air the most incredible thing came about. Music from it came out! But not any music she had heard before. This was music which had never sounded afore.

She ran to the house, took a piece of paper and note upon note she wrote this melody down, then put some harmonies and after a lot of work she had made her first composition on her own! Well, with the help of the rope of course. But shouldn't she take credit as much as the rope, or even more? After all the rope just spitted out notes, but the girl was the only person in the world who could hear them. Besides, the rope sang only when she waved it around. And last but not least, she was who did all the hard work!

So time went by and the girl went on hearing music, but not only from her rope. Anytime she was doing something or even when someone was talking to her, suddenly she started to hear music in his head! And even in her dreams! So after all, it wasn't just the rope which was magic.

And then, she used the music she got, to make compositions. Such compositions, that when people heard them they asked themselves the same question she asked at the first place: 'how can music be so beautiful?'. But she didn't just write it, she also played her music at stages with the violin and the piano or even singing at some occasions. And she did it as lovely as nobody else could ever!

Some people with no many lights, used to say 'she is a little Mozart!', thinking that it was a compliment, because everyone knows how genius Mozart was in his time. But is it not a crime to compare such a unique and beautiful soul?

If things had been different and Mozart had come after and not before her, would those people call him a little Alma? Silly, right? I think that when you are facing a miracle the better you can do is to keep silence. And also, she doesn't like to be called 'little' at all! If there is something that can make her annoyed is to be called such. After all, how can something 'little' keep so many wonders inside?

(So you are warned now, if you happen to come across her you don't want to call her 'little'!)

Anyway, thing is that while she was growing into a young lady, she continued hearing and composing and playing music, but at some point she realized that as much as there are goodness and happiness in this world, there are also iniquity and pain. Nevertheless, this didn't get her down at all. On the contrary, she was persuaded to make a better world with her music! And so, the world is getting much better every day for every note written or played by her goes to fill a place in some heart waiting for it.

Now, the story continues of course, but we'll have to wait to see it develop. By the way, I forgot to tell you that her name is Alma, which in my language means soul (it's such a fair name isn't it?)
So I'll see you soon to tell you the rest of the story I hope, but if by chance you come across this girl please just tell her: 'don't stop waving your rope!'

***

Final words:

I heard an inspiring story once, that I want to share now. It's about a town sieged by the shadow of a mountain which grew up in a few days and covered the sun making crops die and people starve.

One day an old man who was leaving the town was asked:

- where are you going?

- I'm going to move the mountain - he replied.

- Do so? And with what if I may ask?

- With this - said the old man waving a tiny spoon in his hand.

- You'll not be able to do it.

- No, I won't, but someone has to start!

So this is what I think. Perhaps we can't change the world, but we can start changing it! With a spoon, with a rope, with the bare hands, we can start making a better world. The only thing we need is to be who we really are and nothing else.

I know Alma is who she really is, and she inspired me and I'm sure other people too, to be who I really Am.

As a way of saying thank you I wrote this little story from my heart. I'm not so good at english (I had to learn some new words to write it) but I hope I made my point.
-

Carlos Hugo Lescano - July 2016

lunes, 13 de septiembre de 2010

Eva

este momento
el silencio habla
mientras las palabras burbujean tiempo
el sonido claro y silencioso
que nos habla sin lenguas
cuando no hay nada que decir
cuando no hay nada que callar
una luz eterna
que es la misma aca y alla

caminamos por lo desconocido
sin esperanza
y esta dicha que flota entre los cuerpos
el día se alarga
la noche se eterniza
el silencio se hace música
los pasos cantan
somos un sueño que se sueña

este momento
las claras risas de la noche
la eterna dicha de los días
cuando no hay cuerpos ni lenguas
las palabras cantan
el silencio se eterniza
la luz se hace sueño

cantamos entre los cuerpos
acá y allá
como un solo sueño que despierta
la luz flota por la noche
cantando en lenguas
el día se hace música

los sueños despiertan en el silencio
la luz canta
los pasos se alargan
las risas flotan en la música
el sonido se eterniza
los cuerpos se hacen día

este momento
lo desconocido burbujea
la clara luz habla
cuando no hay día
cuando no hay noche
la dicha despierta de los cuerpos
como un solo silencio
los pasos flotan en el tiempo
la esperanza se hace sueño

lunes, 19 de octubre de 2009

Lo que nos queda

Allá van
todas las palabras del mundo
va la poesía
la canción
las frases hechas
y las aún no pensadas
las metáforas
el grito
el susurro
el alarido
el silencio
y sin embargo.
No, si todos los poetas de la historia se juntaran
no podrían.

Solo nos queda mirarte
y que me veas
solo nos queda entregarme
y que los labios
solo nos queda el sol, la mañana, la brisa
los grillos nocturnos

Solo nos queda bebernos
y confundir las almas y el aliento
tomar, sobre la hierba
el pulso de una estrella
callar
en silencio
y escucharnos.

Solo nos queda, amor mío
mi luz, mi espejo
solo nos queda este tiempo, este espacio
esta nada infinita.

miércoles, 23 de septiembre de 2009

A Todas Las Almas

camino sin pasos...

veo un sinfín de ventanas repetidas
el corredor es cenagoso
el largo cuello emerge.

camino sin dias...

las nubes de la desesperacion atraviesan mis pupilas
veo mi mirada
el fuego no llega.

camino sin guía...

los vientos del atardecer acarician la arena
te veo
un pétalo cae para siempre...

camino, camino y camino
mis pies se hacen soles
camino, camino y camino
camino sin alma
camino sin pena
sin aliento
sin vida.

camino en el viento...

tambores eternos palpan mis huellas
la etrella se ríe
el río corre silecioso.

camino al encuentro...

martes, 9 de junio de 2009

Coversación en el Café

El dulcor amargo del humo sube por las grietas de la piel curtida del hombre que se aferra al cosmos a través de su tasa de café caliente.

El japonés lo observa como se observa un milagro hecho piedra, después cuero, piel y finalmente nada.

La característica principal del japonés es que no usa anteojos.

El sonido ya gastado de tan gastado de la cuaharita de café contra ese borde del cosmos llamado brillo de la porcelana, es una música tan convincente
como cualquier otra. La ausencia de la ya gastada de tan gastada radio, es reemplazada por esta música anónima de cucharitas.

De todas maneras ya no queda casi nadie, pero los suficientes para no generar una intimidad incomoda.

En el fondo está el ya gastado de tan gastado viejo siberio, leyendo otro tan gastado diario. Pero ya revolvío el café y ahora permanece en silencio.

El tabernero, también un poco gastado, tiene, increiblemente, un gastado trapo en la mano, y de vez en cuando le da una pasada al antiguo mostrador.

No hay gatos.

(Hay una mujer con dos nenes insoportables, pero por suerte ya se está
n llendo.)

El Cacique lo mira al ponja.

El cacique se da cuenta de que el ponja tiene unoS miles de años menos que él. Pero eso no le importa mucho, aunque se compadece un poco.

Es temprano.