About sweet tiredness...

Man who has the perfect measure for my hips, recipient of all the shakings of my body, old and erected wood of the best oak.

Lava volcano who´s sow me, maker of the sweetest tiredness, of the waves of my womb, of my stretched and solid skin.

Sail me hallucinated sailor, sail me and pour me afterwards in your hands.

I am all the fruits and you are all the lips…
Let´s drink from each other.

Ana Milena Puerta

Here I am,
Naked,
Upon the lonely sheets
Of this bed where I desire you.

I look at my body in the mirror,
Supple and clean,
My body that was once the eager territory of your kisses.
This body full of memories of your overflowing passion.
The same body upon you fought sweaty battles in those long nights of moaning and laughter and noises from my inner caves.

I look at my breasts,
That you use to take in your palm smiling,
That you use to squeeze as if they were small birds,
In your five bars cages,
As a flower turned into fire inside me
And stand it hard corolla
Against your sweet flesh.

I look at my legs,
Long and slow that became expert of your touch,
That used to spin fats and nervous over it hinge so the path to perdition until my very center could be opened to you,
And the soft vegetation of the mount,
Where you plot quiet combats
Crowned with joy,
Foretelling by musketry discharges
And primitive thunders.

I look at me and I am do not see myself,
It is a mirror of you the one I have before my eyes, displaying pain upon this Sunday loneliness,
A supple and clean mirror,
A hollow mold looking for it other hemisphere.

It rains copiously over my bed,
Over my face
And I only can think of your distant love
As I harbor
With all my strength
Hope.
Gioconda Belli

Dearest friends, please forgive me for the mistakes in the translation of this amazing piece of poetry...I just could not stop myself from sharing it with you... Gracia

Naked

I love your nakedness

Because when you are naked you drink me with your pores, like the water does when I go deep into its walls.

Your nakedness collapses the walls with heat, it opens all the doors so I can divine you, it takes my hand as if I were a lost child who had left in you age and questions still.

Your skin, sweet and salty, that I breath and drink, becomes my entire universe, the believe that nourishes me, the scent of the lamp that I hold in my blindness, when next to the shadows desire barks at me.

When you get naked with your eyes closed, you can fill the cup next to my tongue, you can fill my hands as the necessary bread, you can fill my body more complete that its shadow.

The day you die I will bury you naked, so you can joy the earth clean, so I can kiss your skin in the roads and caress your hair in every river.

The day you die I will bury you naked as the day you had reborn between my legs.

Roque Dalton

Don't Save Yourself

Mario Benedetti

Don't Save yourself,
Don't be immobile
On the edge of the road,
Don't freeze the joy,
Don't love with reluctance,
Don't save yourself now
or ever,
Don't save yourself,
Don't fill with calm,
Don't reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
Don't let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
Don't speak without lips,
Don't fall asleep without sleepiness,
Don't think of you without blood,
Don't judge yourself without time.

But if in spite of everything
You cannot avoid it
And you freeze the joy,
And you love with reluctance,
And you save yourself now,
And you full with calm,
And you reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
And you let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
And you speak without lips,
And you fall asleep without sleepiness,
And you think yourself without blood,
And you judge yourself without time,
And you are immobile
On the edge of the road,
And you save yourself,
Then
Don't stay with me.

From the time we had to wind a watch... I love this piece from cronopios and famas...hope you enjoy it too ;-)

Think of this: When they present you with a watch they are gifting you with a tiny flowering hell, a wreath of roses, a dungeon of air. They aren't simply wishing the watch on you, and many more, and we hope it will last you, it's a good brand, Swiss, seventeen rubies; they aren't just giving you this minute stonecutter which will bind you by the wrist and walk along with you. They are giving you- they don't know it, it's terrible that they don't know it- they are gifting you with a new, fragile, and precarious piece of yourself, something that's yours but not a part of your body, that you have to strap to your body like your belt, like a tiny, furious bit of something hanging on to your wrist. They gift you with the job of having to wind it every day, an obligation to wind it, so that it goes on being a watch; they gift you with the obsession of looking into jewelry-shop windows to check the exact time, check the radio announcer, check the telephone service. They give you the gift of fear, someone will steal it from you, it'll fall on the street and get broken. They give you the gift of your trademark and the assurance that it's a trademark better than the others, they gift you with the impulse to compare your watch with other watches. They aren't giving you a watch, you are the gift, they're giving you yourself for the watch's birthday.

Julio Cortazar