✍️ No, no me señales en mi mudez.
Ayer, irreductible, rudo y locuaz.
No me consagré, tal vez por isanía, a conjugar un sagrado ideal, por la placidez de una existencia.
No escalé, a ciegas, montañas escarpadas.
No me lancé a las aguas turbias y profundas para encontrar la gruta.
Parapeto y umbral del equilibrio y la sensatez.
Sólo empiné, una y otra vez, mi papalote.
Y con él, mis sueños de volar alto, muy alto para alcanzar la bandada de veloces aves que se teñían de nubes.
Hoy pertenezco al aviario, a la quitud y el silencio.
Soy antifaz en un montículo de amnesia.
Mero asunto de geriatras y asistencistas, en mi páramo, desolado y estéril...
☛ /Contenido original de mi autoria.
Imagen Pixabay. Banner creados por mí. Separadores de uso libre. Traducción: Google translate./
Greetings, dear hivers-nautas of #freewriters.
My proposal is this poem:
✍️ No, don't point at me in my muteness.
Yesterday, I was irreducible, rude, and talkative.
I didn't dedicate myself, perhaps out of madness, to conjugating a sacred ideal, by the placidity of an existence.
I didn't blindly climb steep mountains.
I didn't throw myself into the deep, murky waters to find the grotto.
Parapet and threshold of balance and common sense.
I only hoisted my kite, again and again.
And with it, my dreams of flying high, very high to reach the flock of swift birds that were tinged with clouds.
Today I belong to the aviary, to stillness and silence.
I am a mask on a mound of amnesia.
A mere matter for geriatricians and medical assistants, in my wasteland, desolate and barren...
☛ /Original content by me.
Image from Pixabay. Banner created by me. Separators are free to use. Translation: Google translate./
