🔸Buenos días Hivers, hoy les traigo un poema. Un pequeño homenaje a un gran poeta cubano de pueblo, un genio desconocido que fue pariendo su arte entre tanta "cordura" e indolencia.
🔸Good morning Hivers, today I bring you a poem; a small tribute to a great Cuban poet of the people, an unknown genius; who was giving birth to art between sanity and indolence.
A Francisco Guzmán Rivero (Paco Myfriend) poeta de Artemisa.
To Francisco Guzmán Rivero (Paco Myfriend) poet of Artemisa.
"PACO MY FRIEND"
Hoy vengo de un poeta vivo
inmenso...
sin huecos donde esconderse de sí mismo
compulsivo y alerta
en sus sueños de lírica maldita.
De otoño
la mirada entre hojas secas de almendra.
De primavera
sin querer aparearse sin sus manos.
De invierno
silenciado en mueca de palabras y trozos de cartón.
Esta vez ya no pudo espantar la lluvia
que cae sobre su frente...
y escupe al universo
toda la cordura que le muerde la boca.
Esta vez no hay pastillas, ni efori,
ni hongos, ni ron en la caneca.
Sin género ni sombra que lo defina
es solo otro poeta que se trago la noche
que sabía la hora
en que pasa la muerte cada Domingo.
"PACO MY FRIEND"
Today I come from a living poet
immense...
with no holes where to hide from himself
compulsive and alert
in his dreams of cursed lyric.
Autumn
the look between dry almond leaves.
Of spring
not wanting to mate without her hands.
Of winter
silenced in a grimace of words and pieces of cardboard.
This time he could no longer shoo away the rain
that falls on his forehead...
and spits to the universe
all the sanity that bites his mouth.
This time there are no pills, no efori,
no mushrooms, no rum in the can.
Without gender or shadow to define him
he is just another poet who swallowed the night
who knew the hour
in which death passes every Sunday.
My native language is Spanish, this text has been translated with Deepl.com in its free version.
Imágen de mi propiedad.