“Una mirada perdida contempla el silencio del cielo, como alma sin vida, volando alto en azul terciopelo. Unida está a las aves y agitada en su intenso revolotear, ella está perdida aún sin vida pero fundida en un inmenso mar.
Maldice la conciencia que hunde su existir, bendiciendo la franqueza y lo puro de vivir. No le hace falta ostentarse ni ocultarse en la banalidad, son solo par de harapos necesarios para proseguir su caminar.
Caminando va soñando, soñando despierta está, dibujando siluetas en el aire que se vuelven realidad. Algunos le llaman loca, otros le dicen Helena, simples recuerdos de su cordura, su sonrisa y alocada melena.
No hay fría noche que la doblegue o intenso sol que la haga ocultar, se mantiene lenta y firme, pesadumbres pasos en su andar.
No hay quien la recuerde, mucho menos quien la olvide, es estela de cayena que florece en adoquines. Cuánta pena ahora guarda, solo ella la podría soportar, ignorando su fragancia marchito cuerpo que no quiere despertar.
Hoy saluda al agraciado, hoy blasfema con mi nombre, festejando en arrogancia su deprecio por el hombre. Mañana estará triste feliz porque todo habrá olvidado, son sus días solo eso, dulce agrio salado.”
“A lost gaze contemplates the silence of the sky, like a lifeless soul, flying high in blue velvet. United with the birds and agitated in their intense fluttering, she is lost, still lifeless but melted in an immense sea.
She curses the conscience that sinks her existence, blessing the frankness and purity of living. She does not need to show off or hide in banality, they are only a pair of rags necessary to continue her walk.
She walks, dreaming, daydreaming, drawing silhouettes in the air that becomes reality. Some call her crazy, others call her Helena, simple memories of her sanity, her smile, and her crazy hair.
There is no cold night to bend her or the intense sun to hide her. Her gait remains slow and steady, with heavy steps.
No one remembers her, much less who forgets her, she is a trail of cayenne that blooms on cobblestones. How much sorrow she keeps now, only she could bear it, ignoring her fragrance, withered body that does not want to wake up.
Today, she greets the graceful; today, she blasphemes with my name, celebrating in arrogance her contempt for man. Tomorrow, she will be sad and happy because all will be forgotten. Her days are just that: sweet, sour, and salty.”
El sol sale para el desgraciado como para el que guarda su fortuna; así mismo moriremos sin riquezas ni penurias.
There are lost souls that have reached the end of their cycle, lifeless bodies that cry and laugh without making any sense. Some rejoice in the pain, others feel that pain and some just ignore the hanged while they deal with their wars. I'm not saying that we have to get into other people's skins, much less embrace them, just a little empathy and respect for the lives of souls.
The sun rises for the wretched as for him who guards his fortune; so shall we die without riches or hardship.
Los separadores usados y muchos otros están disponible haciendo clic aquí y su uso es de libre distribución, hay muchos que son realmente geniales se los recomiendo.
Fuente de Imágenes AI PeakD
The separators used and many others are available by clicking here and their use is free for distribution, there are many that are really cool and I recommend them.
Image Source AI PeakD
