Small Indian canoe

WFotodenuncia-Publico-17-02It has just come to Spain in a small Indian canoe.

With the far-away look he wants to find the future.

Scarcely it is had in foot. He has bequeathed exhausted, moribund to the coast. The life has staked for the living carried out the sleep of trying to make in this country. In his it has nothing and nothing has to lose, well, only what he has left: the life. But: what is the life if you do not have any future?

 For the time being it has managed to survive. How long?

I have found a poem of Benedetti that goes for title I hope that is according to the times and good it could comment illustrates the photo without much ado.

 

The time goes on to the margin of the people

and the people hide before this step

the world smells to fear and defeat

and the shame is already not innocent

 

we are in the Occident cracks

and the hope margin is so scarce

that the red wine does not fit in the glass

and if one feels it is small what he feels

 

the secret bandoneón between curtains

he silences of sleep and doubts

and it makes a mistake with what he remembers

 

I hope that wakes up of its ruins

and I offered to us its naked notes

before this world does shit to itself.

Luisjo

published in Magazine Atticus 4


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Small Indian canoe | Magazine Atticus

Small Indian canoe

WFotodenuncia-Publico-17-02It has just come to Spain in a small Indian canoe.

With the far-away look he wants to find the future.

Scarcely it is had in foot. He has bequeathed exhausted, moribund to the coast. The life has staked for the living carried out the sleep of trying to make in this country. In his it has nothing and nothing has to lose, well, only what he has left: the life. But: what is the life if you do not have any future?

 For the time being it has managed to survive. How long?

I have found a poem of Benedetti that goes for title I hope that is according to the times and good it could comment illustrates the photo without much ado.

 

The time goes on to the margin of the people

and the people hide before this step

the world smells to fear and defeat

and the shame is already not innocent

 

we are in the Occident cracks

and the hope margin is so scarce

that the red wine does not fit in the glass

and if one feels it is small what he feels

 

the secret bandoneón between curtains

he silences of sleep and doubts

and it makes a mistake with what he remembers

 

I hope that wakes up of its ruins

and I offered to us its naked notes

before this world does shit to itself.

Luisjo

published in Magazine Atticus 4


Bookmark

Filed file: General

Did he like this article? Subscribe to my RSS feed and to obtain more discharges!

Get Adobe Flash player