De estos días me dejo hablar
Me dejan hablar dichos días
Estos días saben de sol
y de encuentros livianos con la luna
Se que hay días
que se saben más días
que otros días
Son esos los días en que quiero levantar la mirada
Y decir, " Este es mi día"
Pero todos los días no son mis días.
Hoy no fue mi día.
Me pregunto, "¿Cuando será mi díá?"
Y mañana podré decir
"¡Hoy es mi día!"
Empezaré por decretarlo hoy.
"¡Hoy es mi día!"
Energia Vital
Y se hizo la luz...
lunes, 19 de octubre de 2009
domingo, 18 de octubre de 2009
Gone
Gone
To places where the leaves dance
Tickled by the winds of fall
Your color has been lost
And my hair looks green like your past
To places where the leaves dance
Tickled by the winds of fall
Your color has been lost
And my hair looks green like your past
domingo, 4 de octubre de 2009
46%
Entre los 4 millones que batimos la quimbamba
De la fuerza laboral en esta isla antillana, supuestamente bendecida,
46% trabajan.
En un día como hoy
16,000 puertorriqueños recibieron una nota.
Una sola nota. Dicen que de color rosita.
El gobierno les decía,
"Hay que arreglar el presupuesto".
Mientras ellos, allá en el gobierno, se arreglan el pelo por si les tiran un huevo.
Hermanos, hoy somos menos de 46% ataponando las calles mañaneras.
Si supiera de números te diría el por ciento exacto.
Los que echamos de menos se encuentran en El Centro de Todo
para ahogar sus penas.
Los que echamos de menos quizá no tengan huevos mañana para tirarle al gobernador.
Los que echamos de menos tendrán que conformarse a vivir sin plan médico.
Los que echamos de menos esperan.
Esperan la nota.
La nota que les diga, "el gobierno te llama de nuevo".
Para ese entonces será muy tarde.
La revolución habrá comenzado.
Y el gobe no tendrá quien le arregle el pelo.
De la fuerza laboral en esta isla antillana, supuestamente bendecida,
46% trabajan.
En un día como hoy
16,000 puertorriqueños recibieron una nota.
Una sola nota. Dicen que de color rosita.
El gobierno les decía,
"Hay que arreglar el presupuesto".
Mientras ellos, allá en el gobierno, se arreglan el pelo por si les tiran un huevo.
Hermanos, hoy somos menos de 46% ataponando las calles mañaneras.
Si supiera de números te diría el por ciento exacto.
Los que echamos de menos se encuentran en El Centro de Todo
para ahogar sus penas.
Los que echamos de menos quizá no tengan huevos mañana para tirarle al gobernador.
Los que echamos de menos tendrán que conformarse a vivir sin plan médico.
Los que echamos de menos esperan.
Esperan la nota.
La nota que les diga, "el gobierno te llama de nuevo".
Para ese entonces será muy tarde.
La revolución habrá comenzado.
Y el gobe no tendrá quien le arregle el pelo.
domingo, 27 de septiembre de 2009
Peace One Day
Peace, paz, shalom, salaam, satyagraha, aloha
While writing these words I found myself constantly crying. The days have been warm. The winds have brought the Saharan sands. The Hurricanes have missed us. Our politics…What politics? Let’s talk about us…
I want to begin asking, what’s going on in your minds? What’s going on inside you all dressed in blue, holding hands? Have you looked at your eyes in the mirrors? When was the last time that you listened to the sound of your own voices? We spend all our lives searching for happiness and peace and sometimes seem to forget to search in the nearest chamber, the chamber that lies within. And yes, I understand, within is the most difficult of all the places to define. It is the only part of this existence that we will never be able escape.
I’ve spent much of my life on that search. I know what it is to be sad. I’ve been known to laugh and cry at the same time. I have cried seeing a bird perch outside my window because I felt blessed that in the middle of my chaotic city, Río Piedras, I was able to presence the magnificence of such a site. I have smiled to myself while I walk the halls of this school and recognize how far we have come as a community. I have seen us change from a gray, boxed, jail looking building to one of the prettiest campuses in this island. Maria Montessori once said, “Establishing lasting peace is the work of education; all politics can do is keep us out of war.” I have experienced the joy of a school in peace. Collazo you have a lot to do with this. All the teachers that give their time and effort to your education have to do with this. I feel proud to be part of a community where these standards are valued highly. I think of the Interact club with their organic garden and Heart for Haiti. I see students making music in the hallways. I see the Drama, Forensics and Oratoria clubs sharing their talent with the world. I see students creating art with their hearts and their minds. I see Mr. Cruz drawing a bohique in my whiteboard so that my students may understand how a Taino doctor was represented. I see Otero singing the Beatles and Zayra meditating with her kids. Magali opening the world of literature to this school with her goddess like walk. I love to see kids knowing how to mix chemicals in chemistry hopefully to make medicines that cure cancer and aids not bombs. I have to admit I’ve spent all my life in this community and I have never been so proud of being part of this community as I am today. I think I can start affirming that if Maria Montessori were to see this school today she would say Commonwealth-Parkville School is educating students that will defend everlasting Peace.
Dorothy Thompson once said that “Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of creative alternatives for responding to conflict -- alternatives to passive or aggressive responses, alternatives to violence”. A teacher knows better than anyone that conflict is inevitable. A teacher also knows that we almost always solve conflict without having to hurt any of our precious students. A teacher and her/his students are the most creative combinations possible. I still remember crying in one of the projects done by one of my graduated classes. They created the most amazing Utopia that you can imagine. This Utopia had elders and younger generations working together to create a more perfect world. They gave me hope. The same hope that you give me today. The hope that one day I may live to be old and wise beyond my years and know that many of you will be collaborating in local, international and non profits institutions creating renewable energy, reforesting our lands, feeding the hungry, educating the illiterate, empowering the disempowered, solving conflict with dialogue instead of wars. I know this world is possible. You have made me believe so. I hope my illusion is not just because of the cohoba rituals I’ve talked about in the PR history class. I hope my illusion comes from the recognition of your capabilities. I know the world that waits is better because you’re in it. The world that waits is better because your parent’s, this faculty and you have consciously and creatively made a decision to change what is wrong. Let’s look for those round tables. Let’s think of circles not squares. Let’s think white, gray, green, yellow, blue and pink. Let’s think in many colors. Let’s think in many sizes. Let’s remember to look back every now and then and remember the people that taught us how to love. Only through love will we ever attain Peace.
Give Peace a chance.
While writing these words I found myself constantly crying. The days have been warm. The winds have brought the Saharan sands. The Hurricanes have missed us. Our politics…What politics? Let’s talk about us…
I want to begin asking, what’s going on in your minds? What’s going on inside you all dressed in blue, holding hands? Have you looked at your eyes in the mirrors? When was the last time that you listened to the sound of your own voices? We spend all our lives searching for happiness and peace and sometimes seem to forget to search in the nearest chamber, the chamber that lies within. And yes, I understand, within is the most difficult of all the places to define. It is the only part of this existence that we will never be able escape.
I’ve spent much of my life on that search. I know what it is to be sad. I’ve been known to laugh and cry at the same time. I have cried seeing a bird perch outside my window because I felt blessed that in the middle of my chaotic city, Río Piedras, I was able to presence the magnificence of such a site. I have smiled to myself while I walk the halls of this school and recognize how far we have come as a community. I have seen us change from a gray, boxed, jail looking building to one of the prettiest campuses in this island. Maria Montessori once said, “Establishing lasting peace is the work of education; all politics can do is keep us out of war.” I have experienced the joy of a school in peace. Collazo you have a lot to do with this. All the teachers that give their time and effort to your education have to do with this. I feel proud to be part of a community where these standards are valued highly. I think of the Interact club with their organic garden and Heart for Haiti. I see students making music in the hallways. I see the Drama, Forensics and Oratoria clubs sharing their talent with the world. I see students creating art with their hearts and their minds. I see Mr. Cruz drawing a bohique in my whiteboard so that my students may understand how a Taino doctor was represented. I see Otero singing the Beatles and Zayra meditating with her kids. Magali opening the world of literature to this school with her goddess like walk. I love to see kids knowing how to mix chemicals in chemistry hopefully to make medicines that cure cancer and aids not bombs. I have to admit I’ve spent all my life in this community and I have never been so proud of being part of this community as I am today. I think I can start affirming that if Maria Montessori were to see this school today she would say Commonwealth-Parkville School is educating students that will defend everlasting Peace.
Dorothy Thompson once said that “Peace is not the absence of conflict but the presence of creative alternatives for responding to conflict -- alternatives to passive or aggressive responses, alternatives to violence”. A teacher knows better than anyone that conflict is inevitable. A teacher also knows that we almost always solve conflict without having to hurt any of our precious students. A teacher and her/his students are the most creative combinations possible. I still remember crying in one of the projects done by one of my graduated classes. They created the most amazing Utopia that you can imagine. This Utopia had elders and younger generations working together to create a more perfect world. They gave me hope. The same hope that you give me today. The hope that one day I may live to be old and wise beyond my years and know that many of you will be collaborating in local, international and non profits institutions creating renewable energy, reforesting our lands, feeding the hungry, educating the illiterate, empowering the disempowered, solving conflict with dialogue instead of wars. I know this world is possible. You have made me believe so. I hope my illusion is not just because of the cohoba rituals I’ve talked about in the PR history class. I hope my illusion comes from the recognition of your capabilities. I know the world that waits is better because you’re in it. The world that waits is better because your parent’s, this faculty and you have consciously and creatively made a decision to change what is wrong. Let’s look for those round tables. Let’s think of circles not squares. Let’s think white, gray, green, yellow, blue and pink. Let’s think in many colors. Let’s think in many sizes. Let’s remember to look back every now and then and remember the people that taught us how to love. Only through love will we ever attain Peace.
Give Peace a chance.
lunes, 27 de abril de 2009
Our only God
Icarus wings have been sown to fly near your sun.
The easterly winds have me billowing near your rivers flowing wild upstream.
Like my hair in the wind when it curls free and unafraid.
Days are longer because we are together.
Dreams of summer solstice in my skin.
I dreamed us.
My amazon’s battle is over.
My mutilated breasts from past scars have found the salve in your arms.
Your sun doesn’t melt my wings,
It simply warms the cold flights of winter.
I will chant as if invoking pagan deities.
We will build ourselves Olympic temples.
Our only god will be the sun.
The easterly winds have me billowing near your rivers flowing wild upstream.
Like my hair in the wind when it curls free and unafraid.
Days are longer because we are together.
Dreams of summer solstice in my skin.
I dreamed us.
My amazon’s battle is over.
My mutilated breasts from past scars have found the salve in your arms.
Your sun doesn’t melt my wings,
It simply warms the cold flights of winter.
I will chant as if invoking pagan deities.
We will build ourselves Olympic temples.
Our only god will be the sun.
jueves, 19 de marzo de 2009
sábado, 21 de febrero de 2009
A Gibrán y Giovani
A ustedes rescatistas
de calladas cantantes
Les escribo estas palabras:
De la guitarra y el cajón
nació la voz
Después del silencio
llegó la canción
de calladas cantantes
Les escribo estas palabras:
De la guitarra y el cajón
nació la voz
Después del silencio
llegó la canción
martes, 17 de febrero de 2009
Mentiritas
Mentiritas
No te hieren
No me hieren
Las medias verdades entre dos
son mentiritas.
¿Mentiritas blancas?
No sé...
Blancas son las nubes
Y dentro guardan torrenciales lluvias
Blanca es la nieve que hiela quitándome las ganas
Blanco era el caballo de Napoleón
Blancos son los cabellos cansados de los años
Blanco son los alrededores del iris que me mira mintiendo
Blancas son las sábanas estériles de los hospitales
Blancas son las manos del que agita el látigo contra el esclavo
Blanco es el suelo que pisoteamos
Blancos se quedan los corazones cuando no quedan verdades para contar
Blancas son nuestras mentiritas
No te hieren
No me hieren
Mentiritas...
Mentiras
No te hieren
No me hieren
Las medias verdades entre dos
son mentiritas.
¿Mentiritas blancas?
No sé...
Blancas son las nubes
Y dentro guardan torrenciales lluvias
Blanca es la nieve que hiela quitándome las ganas
Blanco era el caballo de Napoleón
Blancos son los cabellos cansados de los años
Blanco son los alrededores del iris que me mira mintiendo
Blancas son las sábanas estériles de los hospitales
Blancas son las manos del que agita el látigo contra el esclavo
Blanco es el suelo que pisoteamos
Blancos se quedan los corazones cuando no quedan verdades para contar
Blancas son nuestras mentiritas
No te hieren
No me hieren
Mentiritas...
Mentiras
lunes, 16 de febrero de 2009
Escribirte Hombre Quiero
Andas en mi vida
Como leve rueda
Llevándome a las esquinas más salinas
Das a probar fortines y quebradas
Te observo
Como se observa al amado
Te Amo
Como se ama al amado
No eres el amado
Eres el otro
Eres al que le escribo
Tu cuerpo infinito
Alcanza cerezas del árbol de Río Piedras
Y si quisieras, clichosamente me alcanzarías las estrellas
Pero NO...
Tenemos los pies en la tierra
Nos ensuciamos caminando
Miramos hacia el lado
Conversamos con otros
sobre viajes a lejanas tierras
Estamos tan cerca
Estamos tan cerca del amor
Pero NO...
Estamos en la tierra y te escribo.
Como leve rueda
Llevándome a las esquinas más salinas
Das a probar fortines y quebradas
Te observo
Como se observa al amado
Te Amo
Como se ama al amado
No eres el amado
Eres el otro
Eres al que le escribo
Tu cuerpo infinito
Alcanza cerezas del árbol de Río Piedras
Y si quisieras, clichosamente me alcanzarías las estrellas
Pero NO...
Tenemos los pies en la tierra
Nos ensuciamos caminando
Miramos hacia el lado
Conversamos con otros
sobre viajes a lejanas tierras
Estamos tan cerca
Estamos tan cerca del amor
Pero NO...
Estamos en la tierra y te escribo.
lunes, 9 de febrero de 2009
Fernando
No necesitaba ni de ángeles ni de silencios
Era un hombre como otros hombres y ninguno.
Era un hombre de palabras y de vez en cuando de palabra.
Más las veces que el cuando.
Caminó. Como pocos caminó.
Caminó perdiéndose para encontrarse.
Puede que en sus últimos hálitos de vida
haya encontrado lo que andaba buscando.
(Este poema es para el padre de uno de los hombres que más amo. Su cuerpo sonoro ya no nos acompaña. Fue la única persona que vió mi obra dos veces. Era mi fanático número uno. Lo quise desde la primera vez que lo ví.)
Descanse como quiera descansar Don Fernando.
Era un hombre como otros hombres y ninguno.
Era un hombre de palabras y de vez en cuando de palabra.
Más las veces que el cuando.
Caminó. Como pocos caminó.
Caminó perdiéndose para encontrarse.
Puede que en sus últimos hálitos de vida
haya encontrado lo que andaba buscando.
(Este poema es para el padre de uno de los hombres que más amo. Su cuerpo sonoro ya no nos acompaña. Fue la única persona que vió mi obra dos veces. Era mi fanático número uno. Lo quise desde la primera vez que lo ví.)
Descanse como quiera descansar Don Fernando.
jueves, 29 de enero de 2009
lunes, 19 de enero de 2009
A Yari y Norka
A ustedes
Compiladoras de palabras
Que haciendo, hacen
Y hacen que otros hagan
Y mientras hacemos
Renacen los niños y las niñas
Que olvidaron sus crayolas
y desertaron del parque de la imaginación
Mi libreta tiene dos páginas escritas
La luz y la oscuridad sanarán
Escribiré
Compiladoras de palabras
Que haciendo, hacen
Y hacen que otros hagan
Y mientras hacemos
Renacen los niños y las niñas
Que olvidaron sus crayolas
y desertaron del parque de la imaginación
Mi libreta tiene dos páginas escritas
La luz y la oscuridad sanarán
Escribiré
Lo que se deja atrás
En el papel
se escribe
lo que se deja atrás
Para recordar
Que ayer no es hoy
Hoy puedes sonreir
se escribe
lo que se deja atrás
Para recordar
Que ayer no es hoy
Hoy puedes sonreir
viernes, 2 de enero de 2009
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