#18. SWAMP OF ASHES

 

On this quiet November morning,

The sun sinks behind a blanket of heavy clouds,

Shhh! The wind mumbles a premonition of menace,

The song of the demented lady shakes my peace,

And my calm becomes an echo that instills dread.

My weary heart mutates into a swamp of ashes.

(*) Blanket: Manta, manto.

(*) Mumble: Murmurar, farfullar.

(*) Menace: Amenaza.

(*) Instill: Infundir, inculcar.

(*) Dread: Miedo, temor.

(*) Weary: Cansado, fatigado.

(*) Mutate into: Mutar en.

(*) Swamp: Pantano, barrizal. Inundar.

#17. MY BEDROOM

 

The gloom of the room clamors more loudly for its place,

And the din of silence creates a disturbing decor,

The scent of dreams becomes toxin,

The tired walls lose their color, they turn gray,

And the ceiling, a layer of shadows, accusations and doubts,

Enveloping the bedroom in a blizzard of guilt.

(*) Gloom: Pesimismo, penumbra.

(*) Clamor: (for + ing) Pedir a gritos por, clamar por.

(*) Enveloping: (v) (Envelop) Envolviendo.

(*) Blizzard: Ventisca.

#16. SMELL OF DECAY

 

The garden deforms into a labyrinth of darkness,

The plants twist in a discordant harmony,

The perfume of flowers mingles with the smell of decay,

And the song of the birds becomes a disturbing melody,

Light and clarity escape as darkness expands,

More than I can illuminate.

(*) Mingle: Mezclar (v) Mingling: Mezcla

(*) Decay: Deterioro, putrefacción (s)

#15. PETRICHOR

 

The rain, a false friend, spreads along the meandering paths,

My footsteps glide gingerly through the damp grass,

The branches, like ghostly fingers, caress my face,

The mildewed and sticky air invades my lungs,

And the murmur of the forest creatures creates a twisted melody,

Beneath the silence of the scent of rain, 

The warp of a circumscribed and oppressive life.

(*) Glide: Deslizar

(*) Gingerly: Cauteloso

(*) Caress: Acariciar

(*) Mildewed: Enmohecido (Mildew)

(*) Murmur: Murmullo

(*) Warp: Urdimbre, deformar, combarse

#14. ENIGMA

 

My moon, a blinding crystal-eyed gaze,

Its rays reflect the ominous scene,

Time, a perfidious enigma, advances silent and crestfallen,

And the stars stare like impassive witnesses,

In a fragile and uncomfortable immensity,

Nature's blind composer creates a shuddering melody.

#13. DESPOTIC SOLITUDE

In the face of despotic solitude, the heart beats with a somber rhythm,

A dark whisper in the mind,

Shadows and fear grow in the guts,

Like a plague before the walls of the soul.

Before the antipathy of the night,

The tedious doubt reassembles,

And the soul hides in melancholy,

In a cell of silences, noise.

 

#12. GLOOMY LAGOON

 

In the gloomy lagoon of our eyes, a crescent moon shines.

The rivers of the soul overflow, and their showers of sorrow water the mind.

And the sea, where we sail, is a well of despair,

and our search for meaning is a bell that rings at the end.

#11. AUTUMNAL VESSEL

 

The waves of lies rise and fall with a bang,

and the autumnal vessel sinks in the tide.

Silent hovers over us, and suffering loosens our soul.

Illusion is a shadow play, and hope a distant home.

#10. COLLAPSED TOWER

Our mind is a ruined castle, with its lost towers.

Madness whispers from the cracks, and truth spills from the walls.

Our thoughts, echoes of storm, stir and rebel.

And destiny moves like the mouse inside the heart.

#9. WITHOUT DIM

 

We sail without din in a sea of lies,

and our moldy ships, covered with broken mirrors,

distort the truth, and transfuse us into forgotten ghosts.

Our hearts fly like empty bags,

hope becomes a dagger without a handle.

But, it stopped hurting.

#08. CIRCUMNAVIGATION

 Truth is a newt in a sea of mirages,

reality is a drowned fear on a wet shore,

the oceans are a phantasmagoric dance of sordidness,

and we, its illusive navigators, circumnavigate without desire.

#07. OBLIVION

      

 

 Like a dark shadow, November walks over the dead autumn,

colorless time slips its slow song,

and the poetry of nature is muffled and deaf.

#6. NOVEMBER

In an aged forest of shadows and faded tones,

nature, faded and autumnal, curls up to die.

The passing of November flies over with a silent hiss,

like a dark and sad sonnet, a melody in the emptiness of my being.