Poems by Susana Roberts

 

 

A work of art

 

How to shape a precious work of art?
How to do with hisses resounding in my coast with
the rhythm of  the sand and hummingbirds?

How to do with prays
they open the windows to a new day?
how to do this echoes tremble
in the silence of your company ?

How to know your rhythm and the rhythm
of your work through memory
with so many free dawns
and dead hopes?

How to shape  the balance
of the blood in my veins
asking for a new light
among brothers?

It will be marvelous
building together the major
piece of art in an united symphony of love
all over the earth.

 

 

The whole Blue

 

You spilt the whole blue

Over my eyes

Like honey sweetness

Intoxicates jasmines

Humidity is penitent of love

the verb is meeting down

the infinite ocean

 

I write Peace as I write sorrow

with fire and air

pressed in my fist

the light is growing

Like a strong fight

Inside the hollow of my skin

Coming over to my shoulder

Right now that

I am a flame of your body

 

 

Eternity

 

I left the absence

In a crystal of violets

 

I left a carousel at the corners

when I was going behind the violins

and  let the cement dilated my feet

 

I left off the urban sky

in the window’ seams

with  light of tears

entering the room

raising an universe of angel

birds and dawns

climbing a dream

in the sky of another wall

 

I let your silence

forget me

in the sweat of roofs

after the rain

 

I left, then

my book to you, at the station

when the Orient Express

shook my heart again and again

¿Is this eternity?

In freedom, so pure the soul

or is it  a game?

A mix of musk and rubies

with the simple excuse

to remain alive

 

perhaps many silences

are nesting caresses

and they are  lovers

warm breaths

the whole purpose

Queen of the Night

in the body of water.

 

 

TO WHOM DOES MIND?

 

To whom does mind?

My lonely bones

spun in the naked segment of the cotton

 

To whom does mind?

My flesh and pupils of my eyes

the golden wanderer’s  song

in the streets of my dreams

 

To whom does mind?

If tomorrow I die, my son

today is Sunday

your call blinks in the shadows

 

If never mind

I will go to the park

where my age

is waiting for more readings

 

I will go

to feel myself embraced

by the river in its joy

while the sunset prepares the waters

entangling some tales in the afternoon

between junipers

 

Then maybe

I get drunk

with the lights that fade in the banks

the lonely balanced and dry picture

in the contour of the figures of the autumn.

 

Copyright ©-Susana Roberts

Argentina