Like someone fleeing to the treeless forest | PhotoFeed Contest Cityscape Photography Round 132 [EN/ES]

roswelborges(73)

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That tree
had spider webs
on every leaf.
Every leaf
had ants.
Every ant
had stories
to tell.

The poet's summer
is immersed in the almond tree's steps.
It doesn't matter what you name the tree,
whether it pours paper flowers through your window
or relives the orgasms the lilies
wrung from every pore of your skin.
The poet's summer
is lost in the darkness
of your plans thrown to the wind,
in the solitude of you
while every gesture of your armor
destroys my tears
and the yellow flowers
no longer exist on the wall
beneath your roof.

They peered far beyond
to leave you orphaned of yourself
like someone fleeing into a treeless forest,
leaving me without the strength to smile,
without seasons.

With every cry,
my bursts of wind will sustain
the conquest of the trees.
Do not fear the blood.
Solitude
is the last trace
we tattoo
with our lungs in the wind.

This post responds to the contest that @photofeed is offering us, to which we are pleased to invite you.

I invite you to visit the project DRIP - WITNESS NODE - BPUD

Support the witness and vote for TheBbhProject! Project carried out by @bradleyarrow

Thank you very much for your visit!

Best regards @roswelborges

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Aquel árbol
tenía telas de araña
en cada hoja.
Cada hoja
tenía hormigas.
Cada hormiga
tenía historias
que contar.

El verano del poeta
se sumerge en los pasos del almendro.
No importa cómo nombres al árbol,
vierta flores de papel por tu ventana
o reviva los orgasmos que las azucenas
arrancaron a cada poro de tu piel.
El verano del poeta
se pierde en lo oscuro
de tus planes lanzados al viento,
en la soledad de ti
mientras cada gesto de tu coraza,
destruye mis lágrimas
y las flores amarillas
ya no existan en la pared
bajo tu techo.

Ellos se asomaron mucho más allá
para dejarte huérfana de ti misma
como quien huye al bosque sin árboles,
dejándome sin fuerzas para sonreír,
sin estaciones.

En cada grito
mis ráfagas sostendrán
la conquista de los árboles.
No teman a la sangre.
La soledad
es la última huella
que tatuamos
con los pulmones al viento.

Esta publicación responde al concurso que nos ofrece @photofeed y al que tenemos el placer de invitarte.