The dancer
A guitar cry in the Sierra de Ronda
and moan
is nestled deep in the caves of Tajo balcony.
The square of life and death, a gypsy dance
dressed
fire and moles,
cherished for a night full of stars
and frosty moon.
When the knives are crossed
in thickness matter crimson sand
expected
swollen with blood, with a sigh
the last duel.
frost moon touches the black hair
dancer flirting with glances lewd. Women
"possessed" that alienates the matador alone. Harmonie
A BLACK VEIL
A black veil holds his face off.
His brown eyes
is lost in the dark light of dusk.
His downcast eyes are dry
both mourn.
Tears
sharp
further ply his face cracked.
His hands scratchy,
as desert sand,
caress the only son he has left.
Without him, would die of grief
under the bombs that destroy killer
children, men and women.
memory is lost
between bursts of the fight
stampedes
while projectiles tear
dark cloudy sky
and soul of the mother without a face. Harmonie
MOTHER HATE YOU
Your breath
midwife rotten poison me, your eyes
malignant matriarch
demolished by autumn annihilate me
treacherous and a frayed blanket around me.
're my criminal conviction for having my baby,
your belly foul and pestilent perjury,
in your belly that wants to swallow, devour
to destroy and claim that only his own,
and you will still the sovereign ruler, who runs
fate of the unfortunate child
lackluster.
cornering me, I am besieged, and snares I
whip me with your looks empty, your sighs drowned
your criticisms and your life
silent
dying of heartbreak. Die
trance of boredom,
of those who did not live his life,
of which only worked for his own, kneeling on the ground
barren of this dog's life.
Die and let me once and it concluded to my taste
between joints, Mahou and amphetamines,
filthy lying on the floor
funeral of the avenues of our latest drowning
. Let
mother
and find the way to take me to hell,
as everyone I know, all those who smoked, drank
, beaten, robbed and killed.
Mother, go away, do not expect me
,
hate you. You destroyed my life
and reward you with heaven bluish and translucent.
Die before my hatred
crucify you for the last time
before my rage I take this knife and slit.
But, mother, go away and die. Close doors
heavenly love,
of forgiveness and life. There
nobody expected. Mother
not look at me more
that the boilers of hell await me.
not go with me, mother.
This door is the wrong babies.
not go, mother, I would hurt, I would suffer,
you only knew how to love, kisses and caresses.
not go mama ... I love you. Harmonie
I dressed RAIN AND SEA
I dressed in rain and sea, I
deck of myrrh and jasmine,
hid behind the illusion of time.
dream of infinity and a cloak made
to hide my thoughts.
I dressed in rain and sea
hiding my feelings
and stealthily entered the garden of your heart.
Sorbito to sip drank the nectar of your love. Wake
my love, your essence
drunk
my eyes afflicted seek your looks scorched,
your lips and your hands burning hot.
Plus harp
hurt your body is lost in a meandering, meandering
unknowns that disturb your mind. You
I put on rain and sea, I
deck of myrrh and jasmine
to rest your pain
the garden of my heart. Harmonie
PYRAMID
MAY
"Thirty years of life overcoming death,
thirty years mulling over the pyramid.
Every Thursday, my poor and obscure life
here I am, fighting the dirty war,
praying for me back my children.
Here I am surrounded by other mothers:
white heads, unhappy women without hope. Looks cloudy
lost in yesterday and tomorrow
waiting for a response of silence, absence, lanterns
overshadowed
that keep alive the memory
thirty
thousand people missing in the pit of tyranny. Dreams of blood
wrap our heart.
Thirty years of life overcoming death, and we
militia without guns, soldiers without uniforms,
white army who raises no memory.
We are the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, mothers are
universal ones that kid, breastfeed
sour milk to these children who are already doomed to death. Harmonie
LOOK
The burka hides his eyes and soul.
His life as a submissive drag
sob and crack his heart silent pain shot. No one sees
. No one hears.
's a ghost running through the streets, fleeing
like yesterday and tomorrow.
Their suffering does not exist for others.
defeated is a soul that is dying to hell. Harmonie
PUTA
Puta.
call me slut and virgin born, seized and sensitive.
My auroras were springs,
my life was hard but honest.
Hunger drove me from my homeland and I
a world called paradise.
Paradise for others, not me.
Famine gripped my soul
and marked with a whip to my helpless children.
Street, the street was the only solution.
flashes red and silver
adorned my body limp.
empty My eyes adorned
aggressive tone and sorcerers
that hid the bitterness of my eyes.
I am a woman of the night.
My lips crimson glow and call customer
sneaky. My hands
sharp crimson nail
caress the back of passers
my revulsion I
artificial
succumbs to the fervor nasty beast in heat.
lacerated body and soul, raped, wounded and exploited
.
This is my destiny. Destination
bitch. Harmonie
CHANEL NUMBER 5
A transparent parchment, with reflections of mercury adheres your body
insecure, shaky and false.
Carmine, aggressive fire, claws
ruby \u200b\u200benamel finish decorating your lazy hands martyrs.
An eye-liner straight part
the unfathomable abyss of your
dilated and swollen dark lanterns.
a false scent Chanel Number Five
your body embalmed and spiky heels
help you to subjugate your pilgrimage traitor. Masked woman
sovereign, powerful and rich
wander like a soul without
force for existence with your inner condition,
longing that I gave you life
the dawn of life essence.
Shame and fear are the daily bread,
shame and fear keep you from screaming to the world
mortified that you are a woman, you're a
battered women. Harmonie
CINDERELLA Cinderella
gray weeping by the fire drowned yesterday reminds
smothered
recalls the words and gestures of affection,
recalls the warm smiles passion, looks
incandescent
the fire of this love last.
Love, like you,
has wrinkles on the face and heart,
sore legs, hands, soul and life, no distinction
yellow almanac today
yesterday,
tomorrow's yesterday,
their days are made of hollow and lackluster moments,
of meaningless phrases,
of words that are repeated to fill the void.
Love, love ...
When love faded?
When the strokes were lost? Cinderella
no longer remember.
Lost in the recent past, stirred
afflicted the opaque matter of indifference,
in gray mud indolence,
in the mud brown of reluctance.
The magic mirror reflects the pale face of the princess
to remind that no longer has twenty years
and born the first gray hairs, that dreams
sorcerers have an end, the princes
tire of the lovely ladies,
of its ideals, and conversation,
their eyes now silent and deserted
burn up in the TV screen,
in a glass of cheap whiskey
or body of a late-model Laguna
and that love was just
a mirage that lasted the time of a fairy tale.
Cinderella, you're not princess ...
not fall asleep, wake up. You're not a princess ...
But you can be queen. Wake ...
The crown awaits. Harmonie
Response
Miguel
our land drowned in blood and hatred in the grooves
recesses of our lives hurt,
seek the touch of your lips, smile your eyes,
pursue the softness of your body lover and beloved.
In our land were filled with seed
I lie and cry from hearing
bursts of strife,
not see the bloody tears of the sad night
not smell the fumes pestiferous death.
in our land that was how we see our son dropped
stinging tears of despair,
scratch with my nails broken
land that covers the seeds,
my hands get dirty filthy mud of war.
In our land poisoned by hatred,
me, the wife of a soldier, I hope your return
birth
hope you see the fruit of my body, I hope
peace gifts for our son. Harmonie
ME NAKED AND SLOWLY
And I slowly before the mirror naked traitor. My legs
decorated with sinuous
varices indigo and puffs
sullen
argue a flood of fatty meats,
year after year struggling with being overweight,
pain, miraculous
schemes and advice physicians.
My body revolted by the diets
born of the imagination,
healthy living, sport moderate smoke-free life, holds
inquisitorial eyes of the family and friends who do not understand
a woman who was beautiful and thin
gradually becomes
in a cluster of flaccid flesh.
And I'm still slowly stripping in front of the mirror
traitor
and see my
withered hand that swings like a fool
over my body, my body mature woman and I see that
belly, which housed so many pregnancies,
hide in shame behind the other hand
little lacking
to follow the path of his partner.
And I look down and hear my feet almost perfect condition
regret and little understanding.
Nobody will ease your pain? That
teased,
elsewhere the body have and not complain.
And when I look up,
distorted and clouded my eyes remind me
through a gloomy nimbus
that life happens,
happens regardless of the havoc it causes,
passes too quickly passes without turning back.
And I'm still slowly stripping in front of the mirror
traitor
and perceive that the only thing left is my neurons, most valuable
an army of top-models bodies,
my love to all who
surround me and always the cry of life and freedom,
hosted at my breasts tired and limp. Harmonie Botella
Chaves.
From book: And I slowly stripping handsome men. Harmonie Botella. Editorial: Poet Workshop
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