Emilio Paz (Peru)

Emilio Paz (Peru)
Emilio Paz (Lima, Perú, 1990) Professor of philosophy and religion, graduated from the Catholic University Sedes Sapientiae. He has published September in Silence (Poetic Reading Club, 2016), Labyrinth of Verses (The Equestrian Turtle, n394, 2018) and The Ballad of the Outcasts (Angeles Del Papel, 2019). His writings appear in various media in Peru, Chile, Argentina, Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Brazil, Costa Rica, Mexico, United States, Romania, Spain, India, Cuba, India, Bangladesh, Bulgaria and Italy. Research the relationship between aesthetics, education and poetry. He directs the blog El Eden of poetry (https://edenpoetico.wordpress.com/), co-directs the Kametsa Magazine and the charity recitals The voices of the hummingbird.
In a minute,
which is the time a kiss lasts
in different and special occasions,
eternity hides.
the magic
of the poem
is the freedom
of the rabbit
on the jaws
of the fox
A party,
a drink
and the naked earth.
kissing each other,
wishing death.
Here they are
the gray years,
the violet ceiling.
And in one corner,
a cat
seducing a girl.
And in the yard,
A seagull
Penetrating a guy.
What is beyond today?
But the morning
Dressed in red.
On your chest,
Over your breasts,
I found my peace.
Soul that were lost,
today is in its home.
There, where the birds
are not afraid of hunters,
your word is holding my soul.
Between your hands,
on your thighs
there is God who takes pity on me
and he talks to me,
about my ancestors stories.
Here there is no exiled Eva
neither innocent
In your marine meats,
there´s the origin of my thoughts,
the nobility of human feelings.
Carnations that are born in the deserts
are the ones I find in your eyes,
and yoursenses are poetry
that is proclaimed by archangels.
In your luminiscent precence,
the darkness of my reason
find light and all the world
begin to have sense and order.
Here you are,
embracing my fears
and allowing me to be a bird
which cuts the breath,
without causing blood.
Never leave,
never die,
never stop being you,
My dear.
is the last link
of a long chain.
in which the human being holds on
for not to fall into the oblivion.
which is the last link
of a long chain
which always points
to God.
Spider, is an eight-legged poem.
Each leg is a verse.
Each verse is a dam.
Each dam is a silence.
Pinoccio was not made of wood,
he was made of dreams
His name was written
on sand,
on molten iron.
Pinoccio was a dream
of a man
who was dying.

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