Sleepless nights of poetry

15. July 2016 Tales 4
Sleepless nights of poetry

For years I’ve been wondering what is that that we call inspiration, where does it come from, what makes it appear and why it leaves us so suddenly, why each person finds inspiring different things or places. And although I haven’t reached a good answer to any of those questions I’ve realized about something, we are all different from each other so that so called inspiration is also different for every human being.

So now I’m wondering about how I am. Why do the night and the subtle moonlight inspire me so much, why do I love so much rainy days, why do I feel so good in solitude and silence, why do melancholic faces seem so beautiful to me.

Why a teardrop can make me feel so many different things and inspire me that much whilst a smile leaves me indifferent?

 

Inspiration is an evil creature that ignores you when you are looking for it and hides when you need it, and evil creature that will pay you a visit in the worst possible moment. From my own experience I can say that whenever that inspiration appears you must embrace it before it vanishes again.

Last night, near four o’clock in the morning, I woke up suddenly because inspiration was shaking me with all its strength and I couldn’t do anything but getting up to take a notebook and a pen and, for first time in a lot of time, a wrote a little “poem”.

I’m so sorry because it is in Spanish and will look quite weird if I were translate it into English, but I hope to be able to write the same thing in English some day.

IMG_5384

· · ·

Mas no quiera va pasando,

sin cesar y sin descanso,

y es que el tiempo en su regazo

mece a un pobre corazón.

·

Es por fuera un cuerpo cano,

mil historias ha contado,

y por dentro aun arde el fuego

del que antaño fue su amor.

·

La tristeza de su pecho

nunca alcanza el exterior.

Las raíces de algo muerto

estrangulan su corazón.

·

Y una noche sin pensarlo

a la luna eleva un canto

sin poder ahogar el llanto

pues antaño fue su amor.

·

Ojos muertos son cerrados

en un sueño tentador.

Y esa noche junto al llanto

triste vida se escapó.

· · ·


thoughts on4

  • 1
    Ali Robles on Saturday July 23rd, 2016 Reply

    Es un poco lúgubre para mi gusto, pero cada estrofa ( espero decirlo bien), denota cuan impresionantemente bien te expresas y cuanta fuerza transmiten tus palabras, aun teñidas de gris. No es “bonito”, pero es ARTE 🙂

  • 2
    Stefano on Friday July 15th, 2016 Reply

    Solo diré ????

  • 3
    Shadow seeker on Friday July 15th, 2016 Reply

    Una poesia, profunda bonita y sensible, me encanta cariño <3

    • 4
      moonlight lady on Friday July 15th, 2016 Reply

      Muchas gracias!! <3

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.