Other Poems by:

Yves Varela

To Die. To Die. To Die.

Flowers blossom and wither
One my brown front lawn. 
My old dog's footprints are
Now filled with the mist covering
The musky earth. The ancient elm
That sheds his branches across 
The yard is long rotten inside
Since the time we used to be friends,
And the leafs are now falling like
A blanket over the deserted 
Street.

Ominously creating void, the stare responds.

Remnants of the perennial night;
A gaze from an unattended
Child gallops across the room.
Who is that riding it? 
"The horseman," I say, "the horseman."

The child stumbles upon a morbid rock
And lies unchallenged against a tree.
"What have you done?" The horseman asks,
And from the child's eye an empty stare replies.

Diatribes in a coffee shop.

Smile and gesticulate, there's a green world in front of you.
A brown world also, the luxury of not caring,
Or of going through pages and pages of
Oblivious words and print on the sides notes
To remind oneself that we are not courageous 
Enough to create our own words. Stars in the sky
That do not shine their own color, but the color 
Stolen from the lights on the roof. I'm leaving know
Because is hot, the sun is sitting at the top
Of the cliff pointing his light towards my face.
I can barely see, but the black spots that anonymously
Appear from time to time remind me that 
The back door is sometimes the only way out
Of the café. 

Touch Me With Your Leaden Hands

touch me with your leaden hands
and let my carry the weight you carry on my shoulders,
your penury is my penury, and your moist
lips, the well from where my 
dry body satiates its thirst. 
standing at your side I will remain,
just like soldiers in a trench; 
as we smoke our
lives calmly, from the ashes of our cigarettes
new ones will emerge. 
for you and for those infinite eyes I give away
my future, in hope that in return, my core opens to the 
warmth of your cheeks. 
call me crazy, your sarcastic world,
but through my blindness I can see eternal joy.

Fun day

fun day
for you to walk
and smile; and
to be aware of 
the nothingness
of a burden;
and to sleep
carelessly
in rosebuds; and
to taste the
sour
smell of flying 
dandelions;
and to race a
thousand-eyed
fly to see who
dies faster;
and to roll a 
spool on endless
loops; and to
hitchhike on
a thirsty snail
that tries to glide
through the wind;
and to jot upon
the sidewalk
the conversations of 
the sky; and to feel
the obliviousness
of a plowed
feeling.
fun day,
I care to say
to waste away
and die.

You Woman Full of Secrets

you are made of the crepuscule and in 
you eyes the wad of love prowls

your legs are intertwined with mines
and a cold shiver they produced on my skin

the moon slowly sets upon your languid hair

you woman full of secrets
who in the shadow of a light creep inside a lullaby

the dew mistakes you by a flower and 
placidly touches your pinkish cheeks

what have you done to me 
you woman full of secrets

what have you used to conquer my heart

why is the spear you use to hurt me 
full of unspeakable words

even jesus had a better treatment

the abbreviation of my sentiments dwells
beneath your garments and in the sulcus
of your body my body becomes thinner

what have you done to my pitiful heart
you woman full of secret 
but to make him pound faster with your presence 
Copywrite 2006 Yves Varela
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