En las noches te acecha
cómo un virus de la imaginación
y no te deja dormir
hasta que le pones atención.
Es como un millón de ideas
que te llegan en cascada
cuando lo que quieres es descansar,
te despierta en la madrugada
y te pone a trabajar.
Quien pudiera imaginar
que tu musa tiene su cara arrugada.
Tu la ignoras, pero es inútil.
Te tendrá imaginando
y dando vueltas en la cama.
Ya ni siquiera piensas en sexo,
todo para ti es el trabajo extenso,
una lluvia de ideas que no acaba.
Quien pudiera imaginar
que tu musa tiene su cara arrugada.
Ya casi ha amanecido,
ya tienes tu cuaderno lleno
y la tinta casi se acaba.
Quien pudiera imaginar
que tu musa tiene su cara arrugada.
Poesía y dibujo
At night it stalks you
like a virus of the imagination
and won't let you sleep
until you pay attention to it.
It's like a million ideas
that come to you in a cascade
when what you want is to rest,
wakes you up in the morning
and put you to work.
who could imagine
that your muse has a wrinkled face.
You ignore it, but it's useless.
will have you imagining
and tossing and turning in bed.
You don't even think about sex anymore
everything for you is the extensive work,
a brainstorm that never ends.
Who could imagine
that your muse has her wrinkled face.
It's almost dawn
you already have your notebook full
and the ink almost ran out.
Who could imagine
that your muse has her wrinkled face.
Drawing and poetry