No es solo una palabra de cuatro letras, la cosa va más allá.
El arte es bonito porque es una expresión de sentimientos.
El arte es capaz de hacer sentir
Y no hablo solo de cuadros
La música
Los libros
La poesía
La escultura
Todo eso es arte.
Hace un tiempo agarré el arte por los hombros, iba vestido con un esmoquin de creatividad,
sus pies bailaban al ritmo del silencio,
sus pasos eran improvisados.
Arte me había dicho que no sabía bailar, sin embargo, lo hacía muy bien,
me cogió por un brazo y me hizo girar y girar.
Descubrí a poesía en el momento indicado y me enamoré de ella, me hacía olvidar todo lo malo.
Con ella, las horas se pasan volando, y aquí está ella, me mira como la engaño con su hermana la escritura.
Pero le da igual.
Le da igual porque nada de esto importa, ella tiene mil amantes, entre ellos la luna,
niños, adolescentes y adultos la admiran.
Es preciosa, su hermana también.
Su padre, arte, aquel con el que bailé por primera vez me presento a música y también me convertí en su amante, las pinturas llegaron un poco más tarde, vestían de gala, eran elegantes no les hacía falta maquillaje ni joyas para ser preciosas y una vez más me convertí en su amante. Lo que quiero decir es que el arte es hermoso, es eso que te hace sentir que no estás solo.
Art.
It's not just a four-letter word, it goes beyond that.
Art is beautiful because it is an expression of feelings.
Art is capable of making you feel
And I'm not just talking about paintings
Music
Books
Poetry
Sculpture
All of that is art.
Some time ago I grabbed art by the shoulders, it was dressed in a tuxedo of creativity,
its feet danced to the rhythm of silence,
its steps were improvised.
Art had told me it didn't know how to dance, yet it did it very well,
it took me by the arm and made me spin and spin.
I discovered poetry at the right moment and fell in love with it, it made me forget all the bad things.
With it, hours fly by, and here it is, looking at me as I cheat on her with her sister, writing.
But she doesn't care.
She doesn't care because none of this matters, she has a thousand lovers, including the moon,
children, teenagers, and adults admire her.
She is beautiful, her sister as well.
Her father, art, the one with whom I danced for the first time, introduced me to music and I also became her lover, the paintings came a little later, they were dressed in finery, they were elegant, they didn't need makeup or jewels to be beautiful and once again I became their lover. What I mean is that art is beautiful, it's what makes you feel like you're not alone.
