truce

in the midst of this battle

i refuse to surrender

and i fight with the past

as it appears to me 

to be a cruel enemy

i target things that happened

i surround circumstances

i attack bad luck

embarked in my destructive missions, though

i fail to realize

that my real contender has all this time been me 

and all the small and big choices

that brought me where i am

it is me i target, surround and attack 

and it is with me

i hope to finally end 

in a much needed 

sympathetic and forgiving truce

present

the only real way our  existence manifests
is in the present

now
is the only palpable time-frame we really inhabit

so, why obsess about what our memory retains?
why fear or wonder about the stuff that will or won't happen?

melange

a dream is a melange
of feelings
of both superficial and repressed
memories

a concentrated
experience
of past and present
fast and slow

there and gone in a breath

a dream is alive
but never  happens

it is in the mind
and the heart

it brings what we say we hate
into a loving moment

only to remind us
once awake
of what is gone forever
but never really gone

happy

happiness is not a big complex concept
it doesn't occupy too much space
it isn't expansive
or time consuming

when it is there
happiness is like a haze
a sprinkle that covers gently the surface
of even the most banal of circumstances

it is that simple feeling
that frosts any given evening
any silly movie
any walk
any goofy moment
spent with you

certainty

it is not found in the knowledge of what is to happen
for that can't always be assured

certainty

is found in caring words
in warm company
in gentle
calming
love

Thank God for Adele

the things I could do

knowing myself
facing certain truths
facing my worst fears
overcoming them

letting go
adjusting
growing

forgetting the useless
remembering the relevant

learning to love
myself
hence, another
again

were the things that, after all, I could finally do

to mighty weakness

i stare at life

right into its eyes

and i dare it

to make me fall again

i stop my weakness

as it tries to posses me and

i say to it

in a jingle

i've been hurt already

lost

forgotten

i've cried all my tears

and then cried them once more

so, not because of you

not because of anything

will i do that again

love poem

I rest in the warmth
in the seductive wit
in the absolute pleasure

of you

the true one

true love
is persistent
it goes beyond other feelings
that regulate our lives
it remains
even after all the hurricanes that pride,
fear and resentment cause
true love
merges with who we are
and never goes away

Love after love by Derek Walcott

The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

progress

Teach a kid how to respect
instead of how to obey

now

there's only now
if memories were meant to last forever in our heads
they simply would
we wouldn't need photographs, journals, videos
even happy moments should be forgotten
specially those that don't mean anything after
only the present is real
the rest is an illusion that makes us think there is something called time

forgetting

all memories are indelible
each has a map
with routs and shortcuts to get to them
but that sequence of signs
when effectively dismantled, that is
no annoying  MacGuffins lying all over
no related characters around
no real desire or will to do so
makes them (happily) inaccessible

for dummies

disillusionment
should come with a manual

oddity

there are moments in which the sum of all those things that make you who you are

doesn't add up

choice

bravery 

sometimes can be foolish

cowardice

is always destructive

happy days

are those in which you don't wonder about being happy
those in which
caught up in small great things
you loose yourself

investments

there are affections

that are simply not deserved

promise

I will not deform any memory

and turn it into an inflated version of itself

I will not impose the present on the past

or the past on the future

I will not exhaust my own patience

but I will neither wait for ever

I will, though,

wait some more

with the peace of those who hope