“Tempestad” por Alan Valle Monagas

Versos que vienen entre
Estar despierto y el sueño.
Un enamorado con la cría
De sus abuelos.
Uno de ellos,
Amaba y abandonaba
Sus amores.
Elena estuvo entre ellas.
Tuvo más de once hijos
Por Nueva York y Puerto Rico.
Después se desapareció,
Nunca lo he conocido.

Mi otro abuelo le rompió el corazón
A su esposa, mi progenitora,
A su hijo, mi padre,
Al ver a su padre
Ser le infiel a la madre
El día de su cumpleaños,
Con la condenada Americana
Rubia, con ojos azules.

Su nieto ingrato,
Sigue en sus pasos.
Relacionándose,
Con una Americana,
Peli roja de ojos azules.

Llegue temprano a la barra,
La alarma me levanta a las una.
Al subir los escalones
Fui recibido;
Por su solemne sonrisa.
Y ella se fue temprano,
Bajo los escalones
Antes de oírme declamar,
Mis poemas de rabia y amor.
Siempre hay otra persona
En sus vidas,
Y aun nos enamoramos.

Anoche llego el día,
En el cual los solitarios,
Deciden reunirse con sus ex
Parejas. La vida es tan corta,
Nos invertimos en una sola persona,
Sin saber el sentimiento
Ni el conocimiento que perdemos.
Cada cual más complejo,
Que el mismo mundo
Que le dio el fuego.

Nuestra belleza anciana del cielo,
Es inversamente proporcional,
A nuestra maldad, como especie humana.

Como raza, te amaría tan fielmente,
Siendo directamente proporcional,
A como me rehúsa el colonialismo militar,
Derrocaría a todas las instituciones,
En golpes de estados y revoluciones,
Todo por complacerte a ti.
Veras, esto se mide en acciones.

En la playa están los pulmones,
Apoderados de ese aire de sal cargado,
Vivimos por la gracia del sol.

En el restaurant nos convertimos,
En compañeros, en una cena Christica,
En la luna llena, vemos vuestro reflejo.

Entonces se desprecia,
Solo miran al alto, fuerte, al blanco,
Desprecian y te niegan
Por la tez de tu piel, negro malvado.

Pero el espíritu libre de Ariel,
Contemplativo, imaginativo
Se encarna en este ser, además
Hay una cosa que este cuerpo de negro
Me ha dado para llenar a tu ser,
Pero gracias a la iglesia católica
Y la derogación de lo indígena,
Se ha desmitificado
El ahogado más bello del mundo.

Y hasta que llegue la hora,
Donde amare a una sola mujer,
No puedo creer en,
Un concepto tan triste como lo es,
El ‘amor’ de dos, cuatro o dieciséis,
¿Sera una consagración venerable?
El amor de dos cientos y cincuenta seis –
Minutos, con existencia del equilibro…
Entre lo ilusorio y el respeto,
Eso te lo profeso y esto te lo juro.

Por esta razón respondí,
“No amo a ninguna,”
En el día de San Valentín
“Las amo a todas.”
Mi profesora respondió,
“Pues este no conoce el amor muy bien.”

Alan Valle Monagas

“Weight of Her Words” by Alan Valle Monagas

We lose sight of the beauty,
Surrounding us in our lives.
Eyes that waver to the ground,
Are we afraid to look around?

You asked why I was laughing,
At our dinner table,
Mentioning how we were drunk,
Two complete wrecks,
Well, I laughed because I was
Unarmed, the world seemed to stop,
Staring into each other’s eyes;
All our problems had died.

We wander around the world,
Attached so closely to others.
Hoping they match with an idea
Or a figure we have created,
In the depths of our minds: fantasies
Some of which die in time, but others
Fortify, like the glow in her eyes.

Some people fall in love through passion,
Bonds based upon instincts and actions.
The sensation of a stranger’s touch,
Is there any other honest rush?
What happens to their flame afterwards?
Will it burn once they’re familiar?

Some of us walk alone but fulfilled,
Aware we don’t need other people
To reach our own greatest potential.
A lonely minority that tries:
To forget feelings that are crucial,
Humans, we are all mammals inside.

Some individuals remain torn cold,
Between their loneliness and the world.
They fall for the first one who ‘listens’,
Hoping it’s not just part of an act.
They form these false fantasies and dance,
In an aching one-sided romance.

Search in your heart, you know it’s true.
Loving a friend with endless passion,
Where a familiar touch ignites
A solace, unbeknownst to light.
Like a cool breeze, love tends to revive,
In the moments you are by their side.

We miss sights of red roses
And hesitate to lay down.
Blind to the stars above us
And the moments we have found.

Nothing I hear from others
Carries the weight of your words.
Road signs and green lights,
Conducting us farther and closer.

Alan Valle Monagas

“Forest’s End” by Alan Valle Monagas

They have been buried
Now. Broken they rest.
Life has gone and hurried,
You said it would be best.

Conversations never cease,
Despite the crashes behind us.
The dead claw their grave and weep,
In awe of what drove us.

These eyes saw behind your mirrors’,
Crossed your persona, like a river.
Your world became clearer,
And naturally, you became dearer.

Gorgeous, green iris, dim forest.
A buried man traveled inside
To see what they left behind.

Sight:

A cub without a mother,
Loses faith in lovers.

These daunting eyes
Shine a soothing light.
An innocence so charming
It incites my deepest frights.

At the site of forest’s nest
You said “it would be best,
To keep silent,” at ends.

Alan Valle Monagas

“Siren” by Alan Valle Monagas

Ulysses and the Sirens – Herbert James Draper (1909)

She sunk, to the bottom of the sea.
An empty passenger seat, by me.
No other mind – to share with,
Or vessel to shower with gifts,
Letters or nature to behold,
Primordial matter grows cold.

They buy her a symphony.
A lover suffers silently.
Timeless dichotomies.
My lover, my enemy.

God knows she hums
While you’re not looking.
Soothing melodies,
As she plays with strings.

Alan Valle Monagas

“Black and White” by Alan Valle Monagas

Ste. Chappelle Interior

An apple too far to see,
Grew on the highest tree.
Forbidden, beyond delight,
Delicious, yet so unripe.

We do not mix, you and I.
I’m dark and brown,
You’re blonde and white.
I see all of the darkness.
You see all of the light.
I’m as strange as they come.
You’re as simple as can be.

We make our choices.
We choose our poisons

Without darkness,
Without light.

Love, with a broken heart.
Whose ruptured valves bleed wildly,
On countless pieces of clothing.

I will listen,
To your musings,
To your pain.

I will remember,
All you do,
All you say.

Even if I say I decided,
To remember to forget,
You and I.

I want you to be the Radha,
To my ailing Krishna.
I want you to be the Mary
To my broken Christ.

I would die for you,
If our lives were on the line.
Take a bullet for you,
My partner in crime.

Now say, those magic words,
“Nothing, no nothing, is okay.”
Except for You and I,
And our happily distorted lives.

And on the day we die,
We travel past phantoms,
Who wait on broken benches,
They live outside with children,
Under the clouds and sky.
Surrounded by these stone walls,
Overrun with crawling vines,
In nature’s waiting room.

Behold,
A terrifying gothic gate.
Black walnut doors, obsidian
Devil clasps. You knock on the door.

Orange and black-striped beasts,
Are shackled in the dungeon.

We will meet inside,
This magnanimous cathedral.
Lit candelabra and golden goblets,
Filled to the brim with Christ’s blood,
Which spills on velvet red rugs.
And a fine, old, gentleman,
Gestures at us from a stall.
He welcomes us and whispers
Into your ear. I cannot hear.

“Welcome, to the life inside.
where all our secrets reside.”

Alan Valle Monagas

“The Fool” by Alan Valle Monagas

Oh pathetic, don’t let your mind wander,
On film strips, in moments that went ‘yonder.
Replay. Strips over and over, in mind.
I Magnify and Project, a universal prospect!

Light, “It had to be so,” the Fool treads through,
Anxiety, tears, virginity; sinews
Per her Heart, bends in waves for another,
Or maybe she yearned to go, discover.

Why would you blame her? Eclipse, Lucifer.
You are not the Most High, Fool, hear.
Your courage drove you in your first step,
Yet you tread confidently in ignorance.

Alan Valle Monagas

“Ghosts” by Alan Valle Monagas

Ghosts in my path beckon at me from a window,
They’ve written songs, we have sung in the past.
Simpler where times when I did not comprehend,
By the time my sight focused, they vanished again.

Experiences a many have passed since then,
And the ghosts they beckon at me again,
I cannot lay the blame to them for a friend,
For a friend has cost them the other’s end.

As I went up the staircase the thought wavered
Through my mind: I used to see you everyday
And I have not seen you in over three blue moons.
How many forests have fallen and risen since then?

Words read, words mold, and words have changed you.
Cease your beckoning, the judgment won’t turn,
You knew the problem and chose to support it
Becoming the very thing you hated, in life, a ghost.

Alan Valle Monagas