Hurting and flashing all day,

sunlight rushing into a yellow bay.

Crumbling under the sidewalk,

trying to get rid of the mad hawk.


Deep in the core of the forest,

trying to reach the love of the florist.

Stirring into the heart of the insignificant shore,

the one that they proudly call home.


Under the light of a star,

glittering the brightest of the sparks,

showing the amber of their souls,

more than they actually should.


They are all like a honeycomb,

waiting to stare,

the highest mountain on planet Earth.


Forever blind and unable to sing,

each time I touch them they fiercely sting,

Fortunately they are not connected enough,

to make every mistake so rough.


Spilling an alcohol on a bench,

hoping for it to finally drench,

the dark emptiness they can see below

that deceitful honeycomb made out of dough.






Like a boat abandoned in the middle of the ocean,

we aren’t able to see.

What we are sailing,

when we try to flee.


Like the inspiration running down the streams,

of the perfect illusion,

of perfect dreams.


A surrealist painting,

handling salt.

Driven by the wind,

with a landscape full of bittersweet.


Now, looking at the ocean,

and its foamy surface.

I look through a mirror

with it’s same purpose.


Don’t give up.

Look at the thousand ships around you,

waiting to set sail,

waiting to be tamed.


Taken from: url





Je t’aime, mon cher musicien. 


Like a symphony carried by the wind.

Whistling soft to the endless harmony.

Like a symphony hard to sing

created in the cords of his guitar.


Do, for the laughs.

La, for the scares.

Sol, for the after,

that we both share.


Singing a capella when he’s gone,

because his voice is like hearing birds at dawn.

And his laughter,

an arpeggio caressing my ear.


Re, for the goodbyes.

Si, for the returns.

And Mi if you want,

to go back home.


A beautiful glissando above the water,

compares to his sweet gaze.

And a perfect pizzicato,

is hidden every time he stares.


Forgetting him is like being out of tone,

and not being able to change.

Like a vibrato you don’t want,

to be in your vocal range


Often in staccato,

our paths crossed.

A tenor or a soprano,

singing both soft.


To the tempo he carries in his veins,

to the voice I was enchanted to meet.

A timeless symphony going on crescendo,

the song of a melodious friendship.

Bad dreams

Bad dreams,

poison in my bloodstreams,

gas in the middle of screams,

shivers carried by silent beams.


Bad dreams,

toxic air in my lungs,

bitterness in my tongue,

horrors becoming young.


Bad dreams,

howling in the moonlight,

tarnishing white,

with dark knights.


Bad dreams,

measured with tears,

hiding gloomy cheers,

playing with the gears,

of my quivering fears.



¿Por qué esas lágrimas púrpura?

¿A qué se deben esas lágrimas púrpura?

Si tú lo tienes todo.

Existen personas que están peor que tú y no lloran nunca.

Detén esas gotas que se deslizan fuera de tus ojos.


Seca tus mejillas,

arregla tu maquillaje que se ha corrido,

ajústate el suéter y deja de mirar atrás.

No mereces llorar.


¿Por qué lloras, si eres perfecta?

Una situación como esta,

no merece que desgastes tus ojos llorando así,

como pintura púrpura que oscurece un paisaje blanco.


¿Sigues llorando?

Mira hacia el frente.

En algún momento,

esas lágrimas púrpura dejarán de caer.


Tomado de: url


Desperate voices

In the middle of a storm I can observe,

what life whispers behind my back.

And as I see her turn her face away,

I can see my world turning black.


Now I see the shy lightning bolts,

appear in the middle of the gray.

Looking directly at us.


Just under sinister sheets,

the shackles for now quiet and dark,

waiting for murmurations in the lonely streets,

hearing desperate voices scream outside.





Goodbye we say when we see them go away,

goodbye we say when we try to hold on.

Goodbye we use to say when that train departs,

carrying everything we had.


So we continue watching him go,

and we start to use to,

that terrible loneliness,

that never left our sides.


The train that never runs out of energy,

that flies away with our opportunities.

That sometimes end as a tragedy,

for all our communities.


Year after year,

spring after spring.

Just as we start to see things crystal clear,

what time brings.


To be successful,

in what we want to get,

we should learn to forget.


And we have to learn to say goodbye,

drop that treacherous past.

Finally, everything will come to an end,

and we’ll leave behind that old train.



Crystal spheres

Memories we lost in the past,

trying to make them come back.

And even though they will not return,

they are locked in crystal spheres inside our minds.


Have we always been like this?

Making our memories the most sacred thing in our lives.

Even if they aren’t with us anymore,

we keep them frozen in the most chilling part of our brain.