Widows and Orphans

Exiled She was, carving wood with clean hands
printing on the fibers of a white page,
an exiled page, that talked the voice of war.
And they where all sad faces of widows,
bloody hands of little orphan children’s .
And I was there with them, me looking sad
when on one face I saw a childish smile,
connecting with me from the other side.
It was there I saw her, with mighty peace
with the comfort of equal exiled souls,
with widows all around talking their loss,
orphan innocence, and future soldiers
with the fear that this print might sucked her dry,
and left behind this dark four walls, widow.

CUADRO INVIERNO...

QUIEN CON SU PINCEL
TE PINTARA COMO UN TRIPODE
PIERNAS ABIERTAS, EL AGUA QUE
SE TE CAE DEL DESEO PROVOCADO
POR ESTAS NOCHES HUMEDAS DE SOLEDAD...