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Evelyn Rodriguez-Lallave said…
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September 5, 2011 at 3:38 AM
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Hoping

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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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Ola en abandono (Wave in abandon)

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Ola libre en abandono completo, de amantes y sus guardianes sirenos olas blancas como las avez del cielo bañandome con solo la luz de la luna, las estrellas y los fosforecentes peces, y vestida con el aroma de sus viscosas espumas como claras blancas de huevo. Ola peligrosa y juegetona amante de marineros y perdidos barcos (Mis pasos fueron siempre enigma de los pájaros... Y el universo entero cruzaba por mis manos.) Fue tan sólo así, una ráfaga, lo que unió en la playa nuestros cuerpos. Ráfaga de un sólo momento. Que luego como el viento de mi te llevó a lugares distantes... Tu, subiste a tu barca invisible y te marchaste lejos, muy lejos. Y yo, yo me hundi en el mar y en las olas tan llenas ellas de abandono y de recuerdos...
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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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