Hello friends of Hive, today I come to share with you a text of a poetry that I interpreted for a Short Film, where I played the main character. A Woman who suffers the consequences of the prostitution that she does out of necessity, leads her to deep pain for not being able to be full with the man she really loves.
The experience was really extraordinary and different for my acting career, the short film bears the name "Arcadas" directed by Daniel Ramírez. The short has not been released yet, however what I can share with you at this moment is the text that I recorded in voiceover for the short film.
I hope you like it and you can enjoy this beautiful poetry.
La Despedida
Una Boca siempre fue una boca,
La lágrima un rito para otro tiempo, para la calma,
esto que llamamos paisaje.
Quebramos todo lo posible, agotamos el cuerpo y esperamos que
regrese, que tenga ganas de volver.
Hicimos lo que quisimos, abrimos al verbo hacer sucursales
entre la piernas.
Un trozo de mundo se abrió para dejar pasar al ruido,
la cercanía de lo que se ha quedado hueco, en ese mismo gramo
de silencio estabas tú, y tenía sujeto entre los labios la
palabra exacta, también en esa caída había un nombre,
el campo habitado de la soledad gravitaba, la huella que se
quiere dejar en la espesura del otro,
peso de la resurrección, peso se la muerte, peso del olvido.
Amo la cicatrices, no las heridas
fui todos los cuerpos que se posaron, la carne y las sombras,
fui mi parto, mi llanto, la calma que armé esta mañana frente a un espejo propio.
Yo, que le puse fecha a la muerte, que cargué conmigo paisajes
más profundos, andares más sonantes, que escupí sobre
la tumba de los ejecutantes, sobre la tierra compartida,
Yo que hui y cambié de cuerpo, que me partí a dos mitades con el tiempo, soñé diseccionada la ruina de mi generación amé el ruido con que se pronuncia los nombres, así me hice un signo
para sobrevivir, abajo dejé la fe sobre un suelo que no
habla, que no cura, que no canta, tengo memoria, guardo mis
muertos en cada mano, en cada estocada de luz.
A veces una cree que está adentro cuanto estalla,
el desamor va atado a las patas de un pájaro, nada se hila
para hacerse junto, viene el dolor, y se acuesta en la carne,
muta en órgano, en rugido, en esta tarde.
A veces una cree que una palabra es una promesa, que todo
lo que se avanza de un pie al que le sigue será otro día, otra
suerte; no me escapo de ciertas palabras, cierro puertas a
mis espaldas para que este mar no entre completo, no se lleve
en resaca el poco cuerpo, la sabia única que aún respira.
Texto Original de Aquarella Padilla
The Farewell
A mouth was always a mouth,
The tear a rite for another time, for calm,
this we call landscape.
We break as much as possible, we exhaust the body and hope that
come back, you want to go back.
We did what we wanted, we opened the verb to make branches
between the legs.
A piece of the world opened to let the noise pass,
the closeness of what has remained hollow, in that same gram
of silence you were, and he had the
exact word, also in that fall there was a name,
the inhabited field of solitude gravitated, the trace that was
wants to leave in the thicket of the other,
weight of resurrection, weight of death, weight of oblivion.
I love the scars, not the wounds
I was all the bodies that landed, the flesh and the shadows,
I was my birth, my crying, the calm that I created this morning in front of my own mirror.
I, who put a date to death, who carried landscapes with me
Deeper, louder gait, that I spat on
The grave of the performers, on the shared land,
I who fled and changed my body, who broke into two halves with time, I dreamed of dissecting the ruin of my generation I loved the noise with which names are pronounced, thus I made myself a sign
To survive, down I left faith on a ground that did not
He speaks, he does not heal, he does not sing, I have memory, I keep my
dead in each hand, in each thrust of light.
Sometimes one believes that it is inside when it explodes,
heartbreak is tied to the legs of a bird, nothing is spun
to get together, pain comes, and lies down in the flesh,
mutates into an organ, into a roar, this afternoon.
Sometimes you believe that a word is a promise, that everything
what advances from one foot to the next will be another day, another
lucky; I do not escape from certain words, I close doors to
my back so that this sea does not enter complete, does not take
In a hangover, the little body, the only wise woman that still breathes.
Original Text The Aquarella Padilla
