Cigüapa Viajera

Si me iré, me iré yo sola
una maleta hambrienta
tal vez se una a la búsqueda
del tiempo y su llanto
I am tired of being the same
To wake up inside my body
y sentirme
mitad cielo
una ciguapa corriente
un cinturón comido
una lechuza
Si me iré, me iré con mis ruidos
Tal vez no me encuentre
Ay!
Y como solución tendré
que prenderme con el amarillo de las paredes que no me corresponden
Todo valdrá la pena
me iré a mi rincones
a mí espacios sin nombres.

Mujer con Voz ©2016


photo credit

Teachers of Everywhere

Its echo enrages a movement
of youth waves.
Ears are easily shifted by
gestures of hands.
Its wisdom recharges when twenty
something eager eyes beg for learning.
All crave to be as this odd voice,
they are lying if they
call you tight-fisted.
They’re just pretending.
At home they articulate with
your murmur,
moving their hands
becoming the parallel image of yourself
placing the head inside a book.
The positive door you opened
carefully,
led them. It was all
worth the pain.

—F.P. @mujerconvoz_poetry

We go through life passing on
knowledge, dreams, and hopes
to those who come after, even
those who can’t see the value
in our experiences. We go
on hoping we save them hurt
and pain, but they push away
finding paths known only to them.
The experiences must be their
own, their life lived, and their
victories and defeats owned.
The pain and beauty when they
leave returns tenfold in love
and pride when they return.

—M R @unclewalt2