El baile de la muerte

Se quiebran los olores en las miradas,
desnuda está la sala,
hay un ruido que baila.

¡Tiquitac! ¡Tiquitac!
la sonrisa sale al ruedo,
se mueve con el sigilo de la noche,
el tiquitac, son los huesos de la muerte
que prepara la ronda
cuando la ola esparce la sal que el mar ofrece.

! huele a sangre! —dice la gente,
¡sangre de hembra!
no del hombre que se bate entre las aguas
para hallar el alimento diario,
si no de aquella que embriaga la pena
por buscar en otros brazos.

¡Huele a sangre! —grita el viento agitando la ola,
las sombras cruzan los cuchillos,
la sala está desierta,
la hembra ya no baila,
su sonrisa se desliza entre manos
el que mejor baile, la rescata,
los cuchillos cruzan la noche,
ya no hay hembra,
solo el silencio delata.

Ella solo espera que la lleven a su casa,
debe sentarse con los lirios,
los candelabros alumbran y cantan,
huelen a sal las estrellas,
la hembra sin sangre descansa.

With this poem I am participating in the #ClubDePoesia of the @freewritehouse on August 31, taking as reference the verse by Federico Garcia Lorca:
And there is a smell of salt
And of female blood
and taking into account the last stanza of @erilej's poem:
As if I didn't know it death ahead awaits,
but I am disobedient because
betting on love, I challenge death.

Dance of death

The smells break in the glances,
naked is the room,
there is a noise that dances.

Tiquitac! Tiquitac!
the smile comes out into the ring,
it moves with the stealth of the night,
the tiquitac, it's the bones of death
that prepares the round
when the wave spreads the salt that the sea offers.

It smells of blood! -people say,
blood of a female!
not of the man who beats among the waters
to find daily nourishment,
but of that which intoxicates the sorrow
in search of other arms.

It smells of blood! -shouts the wind stirring the wave,
the shadows cross the knives,
the room is deserted,
the female no longer dances,
her smile slips between her hands
the one who dances best, rescues her,
the knives cross the night,
there is no more female,
only the silence gives away.

She's just waiting to be taken home,
she must sit with the lilies,
the candelabras light and sing,
the stars smell of salt,
the bloodless female rests.

_{Images edited with PhotoScape.
Imagenes creadas con la Inteligencia artificial: Dream.ai
Images made with Dream.ai de Wombo
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)}