A Dream of a Walk

I was walking in the desert,

I was lonely, tired and thirsty.

But I kept walking; I kept looking... I kept wishing.

Wishing for something I was not sure I wanted.

Time went by, 

the path became flat 

and I found many hands to hold. 

I held some, 

I loved one 

and cried that one and a couple more.

Then,

I stopped walking, 

I sat and rested.

I found myself tired,

I found water, fresh air and a bench. 

I suddenly had many smiles surrounding the way. 

I took a deep breath and desired to walk the way as I did the first time... Using only my feet. 

I walked alone,

I walked away, 

I sighed out my sadness.

I felt fine.

I was walking in the desert,

he was holding my hand and I was holding his gaze.

What great state of mind!

I looked to the right to keep me sane 

and to the left to keep me kind to myself. 

I looked to the front and I saw his arms. 

he was waiting to be hugged.

I looked up and I saw the sky,

It was promising me no more thirst and a few more tears.

I looked down and I saw my feet.

My feet, those that could take me anywhere... 

Then I thought,

I could run or I could stay.

Yet I didn’t stay, neither did I run.

I kept walking and I kept looking at his eyes.

I stopped just to feel the breeze, to understand the basics of this walk...

With or without his hand, my smile will stay, and my feet can always take me back to this place. 

Then I smiled at him and he smiled back at me.

Calma y Tempestad

Estaba sentada en mi banquito de tranquilidad, 

inundada de placidez 

cargada de felicidad.

Estaba serena, 

estaba confiada 

y desconcentrada. 

Baje la guardia, 

solté el escudo 

y cerré mis ojos sobre el laurel. 

Olvide mi pasado 

y curé mis cicatrices con miel. 

Pretendí que no dueles.

Sin embargo...Dueles. 

El tiempo ayuda, 

el tiempo cura, pero no olvida

dibuja huellas, 

huellas que perduran, 

huellas finas y huellas duras. 

El óleo de cada herida deja su arte en el cuerpo 

y a mi lienzo aun quedándole mucho espacio que donarle al tiempo

tiene miedo. 

Tiene miedo a otros lienzos, 

y es que cada trazo es más bello, 

más maduro 

más sincero.

Pero lo pinceles desgastados marcan como un sello

y las almas con la edad van cansadas 

y ya no son abnegadas. 

La calma que inspiró mis versos 

que elevó mi ego 

y alimentó las páginas de mi cuaderno con un inmenso sosiego 

hoy me revuelca las entrañas 

y me apacigua el fuego. 

Estoy sentada en el borde de mi cama,

sin balsa 

concentrada 

confundida 

estoy despierta y con la armadura puesta. 

Me Gusto

Me gusto en la mañana cuando el sol apenas se despierta y me besa la cara. 

Me gusto con ese rayito de sol a través de la ventana que muchos evitan con

una persiana. 

Me gusto cuando llueve, y la brisa húmeda que esponja mi cabello, me

acaricia la mejilla, 

cuan rocío mañanero acobijando el verde mientras el día nos bautiza. 

  

También me gusto con el sol, 

ese que hace brillar mi cabellera cobriza y detenida en el tiempo. 

La que nunca crece, 

nunca cambia,

nunca abandona el cuerpo, 

pero siempre llena de inspiración mis cuentos. 

Me gusto sentada al borde de una montaña, 

con olor a tierra seca inmortalizada, 

con esa esa nostalgia que siempre me acompaña 

  

Me gusto cuando respiro contra la dureza de una roca inmensa,

y me doy cuenta de que el eco de mi silencio es mas ensordecedor que el grito

de mi particular fiereza.  

Me gusto cuando bailo 

porque siento cada centímetro del cuerpo 

del mío... y del de ellos. 

me gusta el aire tibio, las manos humedad, la sonrisa de las miradas, 

y la inquietud que compone cada balada. 

Me gusto a las tres de mañana, sin alcohol en la mirada, 

recostada sobre la cama 

conversando con el alma 

con la mía en completa calma 

y la suya embriagada por la falta de pudor y bragas. 

Me gusto en la mañana, 

solitaria y acompañada. 

Me gusto…

I wonder…

My body was sitting on that bench looking at the moon,

My mind was flying very far from that bench, and so close to the moon.

Then, I wonder how far the mind can pull the body up

and a tear came out from my body.

I felt all this mass stuck on that bench. 

I felt my eyes stuck looking at the sky,

and my arms moveless resting on my lap.

This body of mine, it is here and now,

just appreciating the night, getting old, seeing life passing by,

getting forgotten in time, with nothing in the hands but

the mind.

Then I wonder what the mind can do,

I wonder how strong mine is

I wonder how alive I have been

And how much more alive I could be.

Sadly, my memory cries.

I am not alive, I am here and now.

My lungs are breathing and my heart beating

But my soul is dead, my mind is powerless

And my unnoticed skin doesn’t feel pain or relief.

The only thing I could do is to close my eyes,

continue breathing and hoping,

hoping for a new ray of sun,

for a tiny breeze of love that could save my mind,

for the shy echo that whispers from the inside,

for the voice of my inner being, that despite pretending to be dead

is aware of being the only hope for this mass lacking self-love.

Now I wonder...

BUT...

Poem published in ABClatino Magazine edition of February 2018 Page 22

Poem translated from Spanish: "Nuestro Vuelo terminó"  for ABClatino Magazine Issue 3- March 2017


Our flight ended

The distance became distance
Time turned into an endless echo
The pain became pain
And my heart made love, vanished from my chest.
This morphed into pure and hopeless melancholy.
My patience became impatience
My desire became desperation
My reason no longer believes in reasons.
My existence becomes heavy
and now I only find my broken heart in it.
I don't  know where you went
I cannot find you in me anymore. But, I don't attempt to do so anyway.
Destiny came across and complied,
love was not enough
because passion faded away ...
Our wings were cut off and our flight, my dear...
our flight ended here.


Maffy Malaver

I LOVE MY WINDOW

I like to feel the air coming through my window like knocking on the door of my soul.

I love my window.

It is mostly open, except when it is 40 below.

I love my window.

I like to look at it every morning when the first ray of sun is on my face.

I love my window.

There is a smooth ray that hits my closed eyes and gently, as the air touches my cheeks, wakes me up inviting me to watch the newborn day for the first time.

I love my window.

There is a smooth ray, which cautiously and naively come to me through the family of trees that guard my sleep, and gives me the most simple but beautiful proof of the existence of God.

Whom else could have created such a delicious view?

I love my window.

Then I sigh and I desire to have the day just to watch.

Just to watch the leaves coming down,

the air getting heavier and then also coming down,

the birds singing and then flying away,

the smell of the Earth that changes with every minute,

the sun rising from the bottom of the mountains, while it gets mature on the top and dies again at the bottom with the moon as a witness.

Oh the moon!

The moon who also visits my window from time to time

and dances with me, while my dreams sing the melody of my inner voice.

I love my window.

Maffy Malaver