Hola amigos de #literatos, hoy vengo a compartirles otro poema, esta vez lo hago desde la nostalgias de esos pueblitos olvidados que vemos en la distancia cuando viajamos y tratamos de situarnos en la piel de sus habitantes pero sabiendo que no logramos situarnos tal vez y solo tal vez, en su dolor y su existencia.
En el camino hacia el norte de la isla
existen pueblos intermedios.
Se fraccionan por hechos sucesivos.
La marisma que no deja ver los nombres.
Son los pueblos la planicie
la banda de cañas que produce
y un día se cortaron
por aquellos que nunca estuvieron aquí.
Hay pueblos grandes, dispersos y jóvenes descalzos con huellas enormes. Toda la vida huyendo de zapatos tal si fuera la moda Armani o las tiendas que hace unos años asumimos con asombro.
Cuando llega la tarde
con su triste apariencia.
Tarde tropical sobre la tierra mustia,
los pueblos se afligen,
pueblos fantasmas que no mueren,
pues no se trata de placer
sino de lo que muerde cada noche
y no cambia los hechos del próximo día.
Hello friends of #literatos, today I come to share another poem with you, this time I do it from the nostalgia of those forgotten little towns that we see in the distance when we travel and try to put ourselves in the skin of their inhabitants but knowing that we do not manage to place ourselves perhaps and only perhaps, in their pain and their existence.
On the road to the north of the island,
there are intermediate villages.
They are fragmented by successive events.
The marshland that obscures the names. The villages are the plain, the band of reeds that produces and one day were cut down by those who were never here.
There are large, scattered villages, and barefoot youths with enormous footprints.
All their lives fleeing from shoes, as if it were Armani fashion, or the stores that a few years ago we embraced with amazement.
When evening arrives
with its somber appearance.
Tropical evening on the withered earth,
the villages grieve,
ghost villages that do not die,
for it is not about pleasure,
but about what bites every night
and does not change the events of the next day.
El texto es libre de IA, traducido en Google y revisado por mí El separador de idiomas y la despedida fueron creados en Canva Las fotos son de mi propiedad
The text is AI-free, Google translated and proofread by me. The language separator and the farewell message were created in Canva. The photos are my property