Diario del Silencio

The words have become a nasty reality

L’única cosa que romandràÉs el raig que tiba molt endins.Són els dies que s’en van d’hora

It was minimize by the time livedNone of us could reach it.There it was around us,It was a step further,The next step of blooming,Exploiting or even more,Being the same soul.I have seen so many of themWith different colours, hairs, lips,And always there is somethingThat makes them go away.The flush

Ages following steps are not that much,Now, everything seems like the dawn

La poesia es de qui la necessita. El Carter de Neruda. Antonio Skarmeta.Pels amics que cauen i amb qui ens en-sortim: Su, Marta, Marcel, Xavi i els que manquin. No cal que la sang ploguiEntre les mateixes arrels,Les diferències son les millors mirallsPer trobar a cada raig Un segon per pensar en no

Yes, I have not leave myself to the abyss.I betrayed the feelings of love,I escaped from the brave loveto the reality.We are acrobats takena hand,a tube,flying if there is a safe nest.That is our reality,To be aware of what we cannot giveFor granted.It is the best way to justifiedwhat we do not have

Desire is a sin paidwith the unmeasurable costof our heartIts pain hangs every minute,clouds above look at us,both:The soul with the desireand you,the desire itself.http://rpc.twingly.com/

A day from todayA year agoThere was you And there was me.For the first time the earth Brought us together,For a moment everythingWas the beginning of allWhat we lived thenAnd what we left there.I can see today each momentAs the first moment of a new life.It was a dream to build it with you,But like

Maybe, today we have lostthe rain using the umbrella,We stopped each furious dropin this dessert sandarranged by stereotypes,rules and walls.There must be a day,with the body of ashesand the sight of an oraclewhen the heart landscapewill bloom.Today's chains will becometheir origin, dust of past dut

This year we could have ten,But we would not.I have been waiting for the moonAnd the smell does not bring it.I always forget the paperAnd the pen is alwaysShooting the sand.There was the silence as a choiceAnd finally, It was a fog in your eyes.It makes noise,It makes you feel.There is one possibili