• Soneto Soltero


    Imprisoning the alphabet inside my lips
    Stills my mind from stealing your divinest image
    To tranquilize my desire, my silent heart weeps
    In oblivion, its prison cell is a sad cage;
    Litanies of sshhh waking my ticking heartbeat,
    Lulling already when the roaring thunder clapped
    Like a dictator with feet pounding, on his seat,
    Ordering, for lovers are servants not to stop,
    Vainly trying to surrender to the whisper
    Etherized on the ears to invent lexicons
    Ere the simulacrum of words starts to slumber
    Gently to shape meanings as the passion dawns;
    As my heart is freed, silence is then locked inside
    Now fear is hushed as I walk the aisle as your bride.

    * * *
    A Meed
    By April Mae Berza

    (Inspired by an unknown poet)

    Let me keep on describing things
    to be sure they once happened
    for it would be silenced soon,
    surrendered by memory, failing in History.

    The way it all went is the only way
    to tell it with every detail
    without the slightest fingerprint of fiction
    about the beautiful
    traces still in my poetic memory,
    in my poetic existence.

    There are silent stories behind every window
    but the window of the soul sees
    the farthest,
    the furthest.
    My own windows are wide
    opened when I been there. Only I have in mine
    closet closed it.
    Little conviction.
    Big understanding.

    It is it I hide in my closet long time ago
    hardly I forget to remember.

    Still pinching my glowing cheeks to be
    certain I am fully awake,
    full consciousness
    marking out the traces with delight
    when it all happened
    where it all happened
    why it all happened
    how it all happened.

    I am the only who
    who happened at all.
    Other eyes might tell it
    different but it is my eyes.
    It is my eyes.

    It is more of a fish,
    a fish swimming in the pond
    near your fishing rod, near your bait.
    Whistling a happy song, you bow
    down to look if there is something,
    something tugging you, tugging your bait.
    Alarmed, you tried to get in control of it,
    to hold it on, tightly
    gripping on the handle of the fishing rod.
    The next minute, it is all gone
    into the silent pond, without a trace
    and you try and you fail
    to catch the moment gone,
    the adventure it unfolds before your eyes,
    the thrill to catch something,
    the fish fighting for its life
    gone with the wind, even before you remember
    you are a hermit, once more.

    It is in front of you but you are not in front of it.
    Just like that.


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