miércoles, 19 de octubre de 2011

W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message: [She] Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

[She] was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Tu alma es ahora mi estrella...

miércoles, 5 de octubre de 2011

todavía no acepto que te quiero.

“Quizá esa luz fuese para mi otra tortura
quién sabe cuantas cosas nuevas mostraría”

domingo, 2 de octubre de 2011


"Escóndeme que el mundo no me adivine. Escóndeme como el tronco su resina, y que yo te perfume en la sombra, como la gota de goma, y que te suavice con ella, y los demás no sepan de dónde viene tu dulzura..." Gabriela Mistral.