#@haikkun

[deusvacuus]

Lost?

To be “lost” implies that there is some place you are always required to be, and only the guardians of that expectation (yourself included) can render the judgment that you are anywhere or nowhere wrongly.

So how much then do you contribute to your own feelings of lostness. If you weren’t yelling after that version of yourself who is always running ahead on the trail and laughing along with the forest: would that version be better or worse off? For one man’s getting lost is another man’s getting better.

Being your own best caretaker, when you stop obsessively keeping track of where you’re going and where you’ve gone, then you can finally experience the freedom of not being kept in so small a crate as your own narrowest expectations make.

I choose to believe that at all moments, you’re not supposed to be anywhere except where you are right then. Really, how could you be anywhere else?

[jack-landes]

SALOMÉ DE L. CRANACH

 LAS PALABRAS no nos salvan.

Pero ayuda a sobrevivir y nos sobrevive: en otras bocas. Al ladrido de la Ausencia el gemido de la Sombra. Al silencio de la Sombra el aullido de la Imagen. Y así vamos cometiendo los mismos crímenes, los mismos errores sin memoria.  ¿Para qué se hizo, entonces, la Imagen, la mano en la piedra, la mano en el lienzo?  Si todos entendiéramos que el acto es intención aún invisible, si comprendiéramos que no hay final sino ciclos, si lo entendiéramos, podríamos dejar las bandejas de plata, dejar de ser enemigos e intentar ser inocentes.

 SALOMÉ DE L. CRANACH

 (S)WORDS CAN’T save us.

But they helps to survive and it survives us: in other mouths. To the bark of Absence the howl of the Shadow. To the silence of the Shadow the howl of the Image. And so forth we continue committing the same crimes, the same mistakes without memory. What, were the Image, the hand on the stone, the hand on the canvas made for, then? If everyone understood that the act is an intention still invisible, if we understood that there is no end but cycles, if we understood it, we could leave the silver trays, stop being enemies and try to be innocent.

 © Santiago Aguaded Landero / Jack Landes

Translated by autor today 2021-2-6.

 De “El libro de Salomé”. Ed. A.C. Al-Bakri Huelva: 2014

[barbaranestor2]

Upstairs :) is @haikkun original poem and in the basement is me@barbaranestor2

Heel

Hold me back with

But a chirrup

Some one word command

A well placed gaze

Or gesture of the hand

Put me in my place

And I will heel

Though heed…

I will not

Heal

Now starts barbaranestor2 poem

Eureka dream

A chirruped memento

Blue blood gruesome heel

A melodious muse and a mad unicorn command

A mannered glamorized photographed

Put the rebellious ones

Back with a gesture of your aristocratic hand

Back in perplexed places

I promise you you’ll heal

But mind you just let me fade in my obscured sadness

Cuz the sociopath magic me

Doesn’t want at last to

Heal

But never forget I’ll never never forget your

Pampered melancholic

Heel