Hecho Cultural Anacrónico

Ant

fuente: Cultura Inquieta

One more day on the horizon. A lost caress, in the attempt.
And in the middle of the fires, there are the people. Protected, ambitious. conceited.
My favorite color is purple. With it I build forms, fantasies.
Behind those walls, there are the owls. Manual genocides, they live fast.

Naked silhouettes, and a virgin
They knock on the doors of your soul, and they don’t stop.
Today those who believe no longer think, and they fall.
But there is always something good to come.
A skeletal mule crosses the avenue.
A man sees a woman go by, he says nothing.
The newspapers came mute, and blurry pages.
Just a phrase of love, with hope.

And we are looking for the way.
La Paz is not achieved, to the shots.
Nocturnal symphonies, fallen statues. Renegades, pacifists. dreamers.

I’m going to whisper in your ear.
The things that the wind did not want.
In an uncertain game of days.
In the mind of the kind man.
There is no rush, no slow hurry.
The truth is, justified as lightning.
In dreams, of those who believe without seeing.
It will be the desired response, to this dry instance.

Obviously, in this world.
Everything returns, as something natural.
Analogies and parallels, of the stories where.
They always come back to look at each other.
Anchored in the land, out of nowhere. Flying in little planes, made of wet paper.
I’m going to make it through the smoke of deception.
Where will always be the beginning of this journey.

And we are looking for the way. La Paz is not achieved, to the shots.
Nocturnal symphonies, fallen statues. Renegades, pacifists. dreamers.

Mae Marcelo Elias
October 12, 2018

ECIRA Independent Cultural Spaces Argentine Republic


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