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Poetry makes the world more beautiful

November 2, 2018

I don’t know about you, but when the days start to get cold, I like to wrap myself in blanket, drink hot coffee or chocolate, and get myself lost between books. Travel to another life, another place; travel far away from myself. This last month, I’ve been quite. Probably because I was losing myself at the same time I was finding myself. I’m bringing you a post full of love, and I encourage you to treat yourself, and take off your life and rest for a bit.  Enjoy a poem, enjoy a text, and enjoy a book. Just take a moment for yourself.

 

  • Here are some of the poems of my favorite authors like Pablo Neruda and Charles Bukowski .

 

1.

ME gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente,

y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía.
Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolía.

Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante.
Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio
claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

🇬🇧

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.

2.

PUEDO escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: “La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos”.

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos
árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis
brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

🇬🇧

Tonight I Can Write
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example, “The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

  

 

3. 

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Charles Bukowski

 

4.

Unas veces me siento como pobre colina y otras como montaña de cumbres repetidas. Unas veces me siento como un acantilado y en otras como un cielo azul pero lejano. A veces uno es manantial entre rocas y otras veces un árbol con las últimas hojas.

Pero hoy me siento apenas como laguna insomne con un embarcadero ya sin embarcaciones; una laguna verde inmóvil y paciente conforme con sus algas sus musgos y sus peces, sereno en mi confianza.

Confiando en que una tarde te acerques y te mires, te mires al mirarme.

Mario Benedetti

 

Instagram poems

 

“Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think of the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will ever want to make sense of all that I am”
― Christopher Poindexter

 

“I didn’t leave because
I stopped loving you,
I left because the longer
I stayed the less I loved myself.”
— Rupi Kaur

 

“I promise you
I will try harder
to be better.
I
have battled with things
inside me
for longer than you know;
I do not know
what they are
or why they are there,
I only know
that they feel
manageable,
defeatable,
when I
am around
You.”
— Tyler Knott Gregson

 

“Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.”
 Nayyirah Waheed

 

“I am mine.
before i am ever anyone else’s.”
— Nayyirah Waheed

 

  • Para acabar,  un poema escrito por mí.

 

Aunque tú no lo sepas…

Me inventado una historia, la nuestra.

La he soñado por las noches, y le he añadido un capitulo cada día,

Para hacerla más larga. Para nunca acabarla.

Aunque to no lo sepas,

He memorizado cada palabra, si no me crees te recito,

porque te he convertido en poesía.

También he memorizado las curvas de tu sonrisa,

el tacto de tu piel y el roce de tu respiración.

He memorizado tu canción, tu película y tu voz.

Aunque tú no lo sepas,

he cruzado la raya, y me he aprendido todas tus cicatrices.

He soñado que te recorría con la lengua y que juntos explotábamos

y nos convertíamos en estrellas.

Amaia

 

 

Do you have a favorite poem? Share it with me ♥  in the comments below!

 

All the love,

Amaia.

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