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Hay días en que, aunque una se empeña en escribir con un propósito específico, la poesía no obedece. Es un organismo vivo, raramente domesticable para mí. Hoy ha sido otro de esos tantos días, y este que les comparto a continuación, otro de esos tantos textos desobedientes. Amigos que han llegado a este post, espero que puedan disfrutar del mismo, les agradezco por la lectura.

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TERCERA SOMBRA

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_{Da pena estar así como no estando
Eliseo Diego}

Viene, al ocre del paisaje
con gotas del árbol vuela,
carga el polvo y el olvido,
hojas que atisban la tierra
y salpica de penumbra,
moja de octubre sus penas
con las mínimas catástrofes
sin rosas en la promesa
que perfumen esas manos
locas, ajadas, tan secas.
Desvanece sobre cuerpos
las redondas transparencias.
Sus nostalgias del verano
mi sombra guardó en la hierba
y es parte del bosque ya,
de las memorias que acechan
como las hambres del sol
que asoman al tiempo y juegan.
Gruñe mi imperfecta oscura,
sola y lánguida se quema;
al convite estacional
su forma traduce, eterna,
instantes le acunan duelo,
honda máscara en amnesia.
Con el rubor del otoño
mi sombra en la sombra queda.

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_{©Copyright 2025 Maia Mayrelis Ruiz Torres. Todos los Derechos Reservados.}

_{Contenido traducido con DeepL Translator. Imágenes diseñadas y creadas por mí usando Microsoft Bing y editadas con Techno Sparks Photo Editor}

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le invito a visitar el proyectoDRIP - WITNESS NODE - BPUD

Apoye al testigo y vote por TheBbhProject! Project carried out by @bradleyarrow

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There are days when, even if one insists on writing with a specific purpose, poetry does not obey. It is a living organism, rarely tameable for me. Today has been another of those days, and this one I share with you below, another of those disobedient texts. Friends who have come to this post, I hope you enjoy it, I thank you for reading it.

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THIRD SHADOW

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_{It's a shame to be as well as not being
Eliseo Diego}

It comes, to the ocher of the landscape
with drops of the tree flies,
loads the dust and the oblivion,
leaves that glimpse the earth
and splashes of penumbra,
wets of October its sorrows
with the minimum catastrophes
without roses in the promise
that perfume those hands
crazy, worn, so dry.
Fades on bodies
the round transparencies.
Its summer nostalgias
my shadow kept in the grass
and is part of the forest already,
of the memories that lurk
as the sun hungers
that peek into time and play.
Growl my dark imperfect,
alone and languid burns;
to the seasonal invitation
its form translates, eternal,
instants cradles her mourning,
deep mask in amnesia.
With the blush of autumn
my shadow in the shadow remains.

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_{If you like my blog, I would love for you to join my Fanbase by clicking here}

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_{©Copyright 2025 Maia Mayrelis Ruiz Torres. All rights reserved.}

_{Content translated with DeepL Translator. Images designed and created by me using Microsoft Bing
and edited with Techno Sparks Photo Editor}

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I invite you to visit the project DRIP - WITNESS NODE - BPUD

Support the witness and vote for TheBbhProject! Project carried out by @bradleyarrow

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