Прости меня моя любовь (Forgive me, my love)
Море
обнимет
закопает в пески
Закинут рыболовы лески
Поймают в сети наши души
Прости меня
моя любовь
Поздно
о чем-то думать
слишком поздно
Тебе я чую нужен воздух
Лежим в такой огромной луже
Прости меня
моя любовь
Джинсы
воды набрали
и прилипли
Мне кажется мы крепко влипли
Мне кажется потухло солнце
Прости меня
моя любовь
Тихо
не слышно ни часов
ни чаек
Послушно сердце выключаем
И ты в песке как будто в бронзе
Прости меня
моя любовь
Never Give All The Heart
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
W.B. Yeats
This is the end
I dreamt of you.
I dreamt that I was losing you forever. I was merely a witness, you didn’t even look at me once. That hurt.
I then just walked away, went up a hill, talked to some kids. Went into a house, looking for a fairy doll that would help me build a new dream to live for. The man listened to me and showed me them.
I woke up. I cried.
I slept again. You were there again. Not your face, but I knew it was you. You left me. In silence. Without a word.
That was always you, I thought. But it still hurts.
I can only look to the future now. I am afraid that the dream might come true. But it’s always been true.
I just have to walk away, in silence. Without a single word from you. Not even a look.
And it hurts.
Canción
Preguntas por qué guardo silencio.
¿Qué soy para tí?
¿Un ave que canta mientras vuela entre las ramas?
¿Una canción que te arranca un sonrisa?
Te gusta mi canción ¿Por qué no mi silencio?
Esto soy.
No siempre puedo sonreír. No cuando sé de la oscuridad de mi alma.
¿Qué piensas si no escuchas el canto del ave?
Cuando callo presto atención. Cuando callo escucho las lengguas del viento.
A lo lejos.
Cuando callo te miro. Y te siento.
Y vivo ese momento que se acaba.
No quise que se fuera entre palabras.
No quise que se perdiera entre el vuelo de las sílabas.
El ave lloró. Más por ella misma que por la soledad.
La soledad ya no le asusta.
Consejera y amiga. Enemiga y celadora.
Sola pudo volar muy alto.
Sola vio lo que no vio nadie más.
A veces, suspendida entre las nubes, pienso en tí.
¿Acaso no se pierde lo que veo, si no puedo mostrártelo?
Cómo quisiera mostrártelo.
Y no encuentro palabras. Y los recuerdos se pierden.
Preguntas por qué guardo silencio.
En el silencio están las respuestas. El silencio es armadura.
Pájaro de hierro.
Impenetrable.
Como llamaradas de luz muestro lo que soy ante ti.
Las llamaradas se disipan, ¿me ves inmóvil?
¿no ves que sí me muevo?
Esperas la canción, la de mi alegría.
A veces soy canción, a veces otoño.
Entre el susurro de la hojarasca descanso.
Cierro los ojos y los oídos.
La música cesa.
¿Escuchas el viento?
Mírame.
On being lonely
If you feel lonely, you said
You are not comfortable with yourself.
Your own company is not enough.
You need someone else to fill the silence with noise.
I didn´t reply. My silence was an answer to myself.
I can live alone. I’ve spent my life alone.
I have enjoyed my silence. Secrecy.
I have enjoyed my growth.
And then one day, I travelled far.
I found myself, I found my way.
I learnt to enjoy life.
My life.
And I saw the beauty in the world.
The spider nesting in the flowers.
Raindrops falling on my skin.
Clouds of gold blinding my eyes.
The wind speaking to me in a million tongues.
My spirit was filled with beauty.
I was overwhelmed by joy.
But I was alone.
Happiness is complete only if it is shared.
Awakening
What do I say to you now? I was stupid, I was rude, I never talked to you enough and now I can’t. I look back: I let almost thirty years go by. What use is love, if love can’t save you? What use is love if I can’t do anything for you anymore. I can’t soothe your pain. I can only hold your hand. I can’t believe my eyes can still cry. I don’t understand life. I don’t understand pain. I don’t understand anything at all.
What do I cry for? What do I laugh for? What do I love for? It will be over all the same.
Wake up, get up. Let’s go out for a walk. There is a park near here. I want to show you the trees, can you feel the wind? Hold my hand, I’ll lead the way. Feel the grass under your feet. Smell the flowers, smell the breeze, feel it tousle your hair.
You don’t listen to me anymore. Look at me and don’t understand. I can’t ease your pain or your discomfort. I can’t do anything but look at how it all ends. I stand there, in the middle of nowhere, staring, helpless.
I am afraid. I am afraid of seeing you suffer. I am afraid of being selfish for not wanting to see you suffer. I am afraid of crying my life away. I am afraid of letting you go. I am afraid of life without you.
I am afraid of my life right now. Everything’s out of control. I just cannot see where I’m walking. My heart is broken, but I can’t tell you this. I try to gather the pieces and start afresh but I can’t. The wind keeps blowing them away. Do you understand? My heart is broken and I am afraid, I am tired and can’t see through the fog, the tears.
My heart is broken.
But life is also good to me. I can’t understand, I don’t know what I have done to deserve so many people being good to me. How, like magic, everything is going my way. I say a word and the Universe gives me what I ask for.
But my heart, my heart is broken. That’s always been a problem, you know, though I never told you before. I’ve tried to harden up, to be brave, to stop the tears, I can’t. But I have to learn the lesson with you. I have to be strong, you mustn’t see me cry. I am learning, but it hurts.
You can’t hear me now. My words evaporate before they reach you. They disintegrate the moment I speak them.
But don’t be afraid. When you open your eyes I shall be there, standing next to you, holding your hand next to my heart.
Dónal Óg
It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
the snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
and that you may be without a mate until you find me.
You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
that you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
and I found nothing there but a bleating lamb.
You promised me a thing that was hard for you,
a ship of gold under a silver mast;
twelve towns with a market in all of them,
and a fine white court by the side of the sea.
You promised me a thing that is not possible,
that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish;
that you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird;
and a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland.
When I go by myself to the Well of Loneliness,
I sit down and I go through my trouble;
when I see the world and do not see my boy,
he that has an amber shade in his hair.
It was on that Sunday I gave my love to you;
the Sunday that is last before Easter Sunday.
And myself on my knees reading the Passion;
and my two eyes giving love to you for ever.
My mother said to me not to be talking with you today,
or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;
it was a bad time she took for telling me that;
it was shutting the door after the house was robbed.
My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe,
or as the black coal that is on the smith's forge;
or as the sole of a shoe left in white halls;
it was you that put that darkness over my life.
You have taken the east from me; you have taken the west from me;
you have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
you have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
and my fear is great that you have taken God from me!
Anonymous
8th century Irish ballad
***
Is it any use to fight what life has decided?
Is it any use to question it?
Still overwhelmed by the irony of it all.
How one day life gives me what I wanted,
the next morning takes it all away.
Tales we tell ourselves: what we read
We all tell ourselves a different story. A story that is told in pieces by the books we read.
Some people refuse to let their lives be led by or likened to fairy tales, but we all choose our own narrative through what we read (or choose to read): a story that our life has to become. A story that our life has been, maybe imposed on us, or we imagine it’s been imposed on us. And we go through life looking for the actors that will play the part. Characters who will praise us or vile us, so that we can be heroes or victims accordingly.
We strive so that our love story is the same. Or that it tells the same passion. The same scenes, the same sensations. So that someone speaks to us in the same way. Touches us in the same way.
So that what we live is already immortal. So that it has already been immortalised by a monument of words. By someone’s telling of a story that should be ours.
It is a lie we tell ourselves. It is a lie people tell themselves. A lie that guides in some way the course of our lives.
It defines the language we use. The way in which we speak. It shapes the way we look at the world. What we long for. What we accept and what we overlook.
I wonder sometimes could I have told myself a different story. Would I have told myself a different story? Am I who I am, would I, given the opportunity change anything of what I have done?
Sometimes I hate the story. Sometimes I enjoy it so much. Sometimes I’d love to rip off the pages. Sometimes I want to write my name on every page so that the world knows it’s me who’s writing.
And then I wonder, how could I possibly play a part in someone else’s story. Would this actress be fit for a role in another play? Of what sort?
Am I who you are looking for? I might not be the character you are expecting. We haven’t read the same books. We haven’t underlined the same lines. I have tried to find your echo in other people’s voices. My own echo is lost long time ago.
I am with no instructions. I am losing structure and I am losing the story I told myself. It works no longer. It is worn out. It can give me no more, I can grow no more. I am letting it go, no questions asked. It is still comfortable, but empty.
One step at a time. No instructions. Nothing written, nothing for granted. My eyes, my ears, my soul, my mind, all open and ready to receive the Great Beauty, Knowledge, Life. And the new story will be one of openness, hope, and the certainty that it is possible to change, to shed the old skin, to grow.
Die Rose
Sie ist Süß, und sie ist bitter,
Wer nie weint und niemals trauert,
der weiß auch nichts vom Glück.
Wer das sucht, was ewig dauert,
Wer nur nimmt kann auch nicht geben
immer Angst hat vor dem Sterben,
Wenn du denkst, du bist verlassen
und kein Weg führt aus der Nacht,
fängst du an, die Welt zu hassen,
die nur andere glücklich macht.
Dann vergiß nicht, an dem Zweig dort
Subir y bajar
No cabe duda de que debí preocuparme cuando subía y subía. Debí saber que iba a bajar. Sin embargo, no ha sido una caída estrepitosa y de hecho bajo poco a poco y por voluntad propia.
Me doy cuenta de que las ilusiones no valen la pena. Me doy cuenta de que la palabra ilusión es solamente parte de otra palabra: DESilusión.
A veces no puedo creer o no puedo entender cómo yo misma me tiro al abismo con pleno conocimiento de causa. No puedo alegar que yo no sabía lo que estaba haciendo, que hice las cosas sin darme cuenta porque nunca es así. Tanto en las buenas como en las malas siempre soy responsable de lo que me pasa. O mejor dicho, las cosas no “me pasan”, yo hago que me pasen.
Ahora mismo me siento enojada, confundida y cansada de todo. Como si de vez en cuando la vida se encargara de recordarme que no debo confiarme, que las cosas que salieron bien fueron solamente un poco de suerte, quizá un respiro.
A mi alrededor la gente cree que soy alegre y optimista. Digo cree, pero mas bien es lo único que muestro y lo único que pueden ver de mí. Muchas veces también lo creo. Me gusta ser así y alegrarle la vida a los demás, aunque muchas veces corro el peligro de que me encasillen y se molesten cuando no puedo representar el papel que yo misma me atribuí. Creo que esto es la única desventaja, y lo que más duele, que la comprensión que uno trata de dar a los demás no venga de regreso. Supongo que a veces espero demasiado de los demás.
Justo ahora ni siquera sé que esperar. No sé qué esperar de mí, ni de las otras personas, ni de la vida. El impulso que sentía al comienzo del año se ha hecho más débil, ha ido deteniéndose. Quizá sea que siento que las metas que me fijé no están basadas en hechos reales, sino en el poder de mi imaginación, o que son castillos en el aire que en cualquier momento de desvanecerán, dejando caer todo lo que construí sobre ellos. Todo se resume en una palabra: MIEDO.
Justo ahora no tengo la más mínima intención de salir del agujero donde me encuentro. No puedo. La forma en la que me siento no tiene una explicación racional, no sé qué me pasa, y además de lo que traigo dentro han estado las cosas que vienen de fuera.
Problemas en casa, a lo cual ya debería estar acostumbrada, pero me recordaron, una vez más, que cualquier cosa que yo haga, por mucho que trabaje, por más que estudie y sea una persona responsable y madura, no importa. Mi esfuerzos son inútiles porque mi trabajo de 10 años es un juego, mi carrera es fácil (y por eso pude tener 3 empleos al mismo tiemo, estudiar dos idiomas, y tomar cursos de capacitación) y lo que yo hago no tiene valor y lo podría hacer cualquiera.
Por lo anterior, problemas en el trabajo. Y ni siquiera, más bien fue tristeza y coraje de que lo toquen, por que es lo único que tengo.
Y problemas en el corazón. Estoy enojada conmigo misma, estoy triste, confundida, no sé qué hacer, o para donde mirar. No puedo ni quiero mirar hacia atrás, hacia lo que decidí dejar atrás pero que sigue caminando junto a mí y que además me ayuda a sobrellevar lo que ahora sucede. Me dejo llevar, no pregunto nada, acepto lo que viene, y espero.
Cuando me sienta lista volveré a caminar una vez más.
The loved one always leaves
I must have left as well.
I must have walked out on people and things.
I know.
Sometimes it was my body,
sometimes my mind.
Life had to go on
Even if it meant something had to die.
Even if it meant and old version of me
had to die.
Movement
is resistance
is pain.
I know I left once.
twice, three times,
In the cruellest possible form.
Loving but having to look elsewhere.
It was not easy.
At all.
I walked away, without looking back.
Looking forward.
NEVER back.
I left once, twice, more.
I closed my eyes.
I covered my ears.
I walked on, and left part of who I was along the way.
I know the loved one always leaves.
What use is it to fight against it?
If immeasurable distance
and time go by, impenetrable.
Time does not destroy.
It covers everything in sand,
caking our eyelids, ears, mouth and heart
with the mud of abandonment.
Deserted,
inside and outside
it is hard to breathe,
hard to feel.
I know I left once
I left twice
I left it all.
************
The loved one always leaves.
Once, twice, every time
I close my eyes to remember
the wind in our face and the words we whispered,
I remember.
Remember the parting
steps we took.
The paths we followed.
My closing the door.
My letting you go.
I left as well…
The loved one always leaves,
and the one who stays is thirsty,
walking the same desert streets again and again, and
moving through time and space
with no answer.
Is there a way back?
Is there a way forward that will bring us back?
Once, twice,
the loved one always leaves.
You should know.
What my tea said to me today
In a cup of Chai Black I found these words today:
Inspiring others toward happiness brings you happiness.
Vida
Citando a Jackie:
“que valiente eres: anglo+maestria+delta+vida+gimnasio++blog+++++etc
=cómo le haces?”
Y digo yo: bueno, quitamos VIDA de la ecuación y tendremos una idea más clara de lo que sucederá conmigo. No creo que la extrañe mucho, I have never had a lot of it, anyway.
Por supuesto, el gimnasio también tendrá que irse, ya que me estaba gustando… y por supuesto, esto también ocasionará que alguien se infarte. Ni modo.
From I DREAM I AM AT THE GHAT OF THE ONLY WORLD
Weep, for this is farewell,
To be rowed forever is the last afterlife[.]
[...]
WEEPING? YOU MUST NOT. I ask, “Which world will bring her
back, or will he who wears his heart in his sleeve eaves-
drop always, in his inmost depths, on a cruel harbinger?”
[...]
THE LOVED ONE ALWAYS LEAVES.
by Agha Shahid Ali, from The Veiled Suite, 2009.
