SMOG
I think I'll walk to the nearest cyber café,
Get myself some juice, clean my body up.
It is sunny now in Brixton,
London town, London underground.
I disappear in the crowds like fog
Over the Thames, like birds in the Winter skies.
The next stop is coming, I want to get down.
The present is a gift, you used to say to me,
And I am living it, more humbly than ever.
I want to develop my sense of smell,
Give up smoking, be good again.
I look out the window, and there's no hills
Or valleys or rivers, or people who talk about themselves.
There's only my reality, and it is only mine.
I have packed my bags, I like to travel light.
Antonio Machado, I wish you could see me now.
I wrote and wrote until I emptied myself.
Breath in, lower, middle and chest,
Breath out, empty yourself like water out of a jar.
New air, new ideas, another way of looking at life.
I am scared, but fairly confident.
Good life is for the humble inside.
Too much energy I have used in the past.
I wonder what happened to your beautiful smile.
I am capable of loving, of course I am.
Time can only erase the pains from the past.
We are our past, and we are made of pasta.
Our circumstances are boiling water
And we slowly reach al dente point.
Turn off the cooker, before it's too late
And we lose our colour, our essence, our taste.
Let's get together and make a good cake.
I will meet you in Leicester Square
And we will go for a drink
And then we will see…
I feel excited, worried and perplexed.
Your voice sounds so sweet
At the other end of the phone.
I will be myself
The guy who is a good bloke,
The poet, the lover, the person,
And then we will see…
Fernando Jarabo y Lorenzo