A good lesson

Like some people, I find comfort in solitary activities where being on my own means getting in touch with myself. I like freedom, silence and reflections. I think it is a leap of faith building one’s identity without mirrors. At the end of the day, one has to wonder whether the image that you envision about the world is approved by the tribe, and whether it is very real or very deceptive. Nonetheless, I find that there is so much to learn from others. This is my latest lesson. Life is short. I’ve lost people in a blow of wind; you can’t imagine how easy it is to vanish. Nowadays you take one step and have to look back to see how far things have come. Is everything still unbroken? The whole thing is a scandal, how brief our stories are, really! It is no use stepping aside and not showing the people you love that you love them. When we die, I figure we won’t remember how distant we were, but how close we got. It seems comforting to reach out. And sharing has always been theoretically important, but now I can make sense of it. Often I wonder whether I was too sad and scared to be around people. Age has also put me down to earth a little. It’s this hypersensitive heart. In the past, sometimes the only thing I had in my mind was being with God, who is the replacement of my dad. I know it’s crazy, isn’t it? That’s what my dad would say! I’m sorry about it. It’s like a kid who wants his Christmas back. I wanted to vanish in the air, but I didn’t want to die because the idea of my heart stopping freaks me out. Levitating would have been fine, but of course that was not an option. Now I realize that there are angels on earth who are flesh and bones like me. It’s a good lesson. I like that. I’m definitely still up there, but now I can come down to be with you.


un relato breve


are best at farewell.
Their scented lap
makes enough for a bed
with dreamy boughs,
if only porcelain.


It begins.
The hammer starts to pierce
my skull late at night.
I think it is about to dawn
but maybe it’s just my head broken
turning the switch on.

Still I think about you,
in the stormy pain of thoughts,
like a simple man clings to life
gasping in his dying bed.

I don’t know how I love you.

I just wish I were to sleep.
Today I am tired of this monument.

But my skin has depersonalized
and I don’t know who I am,
I shiver with cold currents of air
that play up my loose nerves.

Now I walk into the marble bathroom
and I say to myself, hugging myself-
‘You just can’t take a love like this,

nor the full-gluten carrot cake.
You feel too much’,
I think while I scream, and I throw up
and end up crying a few lovely tears
I hadn’t had the time to cry before.

What an invincible self-esteem
one has to have in the sweet gloom!
My skull is breaking free into the sky.
Now I think if you really wanted
we know you’d take this heart of mine.

But it’s safer to make me unreal
and deviate, my love, terrified of the wounds
we have opened for one another.

And even I have been torn
between wanting to be human
and fighting to be a god
so as to never be tempted.

Yet I try to call your attention
in the best subtle way,
as if I wished to be tempted
because I can’t help myself.

So now you sit back and make me wait.
You like to leave your flood in me.

You must have hurt enough to do nothing
when you watch me go through hell.


What a bliss,
to hear the vowels of silence
and stick to their saying,
the soundless monologue
that brings words to bay.

It is final,
the speaker reincarnates
as an all-existence
in the wry mouth of a cliff
where nothing listens.

How touching,
seeing shouts in the air.
Down, the waves seize me
into myself, and I but drowse
to this private meaning.


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de «Tim y el Trastero del Tiempo» haciendo click aquí:

Beatriz Lozano. Copyright © Laura Henche, 2020. Todos los derechos reservados

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