El Arbol Que Canta

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Evelyn's Poems: El arbol que canta

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I'm so sad today. Reading my poetry I realized how far I am, more than ever, of reaching my one main dream, the dream of having my poetry book published in spanish and seen it in all main libraries, and book stores internationally, but specially in my country Puerto Rico and in my small home town, when I once knew almost everyone there and was liked by many sweet people I have now lost contact with. These small town people knew of my dreams and always supported me, but I got lost in myself and my dream got to big...now reading my old poems I wish I could go back to them to turn them in what they once where, but they are not the same, their magic got lost in translation, in editing and now they are just a semi perfect copy of what they where, that little imperfection beauty called poetry and free verse is now a mix of political correct words that had lost most of it context and meaning. And I'm sad, because looking for perfection my once magic world of words got lost...My dream ...
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Versos de la Calle; Mentiras Estoy harta de mentiras y de esta basura a la que le llaman vida... Estoy harta del orgullo con el que la gente disfraza su falsa hipocresía... Estoy harta de esas mentiras que crecen como gusanos en las raíces de los palos, en el que te recuestas a comer de tus frutos y manzanas podridas... Y te crees el más "Cheche" o la más favorecida... Estoy harta de tus juegos, y de tus palabras ó balbuceos o que vigíles mis miradas... El que cuestiones mis deseos, y esculques en mis pensamientos y mi alma sinceramente me canza... Estoy harta de las normas y las politiquerías y del oxígeno, que respiro, pues inhalo tu veneno... Estoy tan harta que devuelvo si tus mentiras y tu venenosa rechinante voz llego a escuchar de nuevo, tu estirpe es de mala sangre aves de mal aguero, perros y perras finos pero puros callejeros. Copyrighted 2005 Evelyn Lallave-Rodriguez
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Hoping  Hoping!  Dreaming.  Waiting! On what?  I still don't know, or don't remember.  However, I am still waiting.  Inside of me I feel burning, burning in an unseen fire;  A cold as snow fire,  but fire the very least.  Dreaming and hoping  that someday I could open my eyes, and then understand why  when I look up at the moon I think of you,  I still cry for you...   And I think about the lonely stars,  so alone,  alone with God, the angels, so very far,  in that huge, but ever present sky,  and I suddenly feel sad and weep.   I just cry, cry, and cry, cry, cry, cry, still not knowing why. But I'm hoping that one day I can finally find out...
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