SONNET’S FROM (200 SONNET’S OF THE SOLDIER )

 200 Sonetas Del Soldado ....es una historia de amor que lo escribi en sonetas...Esta historia se lo dedique a un Soldado Norteamericano pero tambien se le dedico a cualquer soldado del mundo que deja su familia y su tierra para enfrentar una vida llena de sorpresas y riezgos.

Pronto lo podran leer en espanol

 

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1.

 

Two hearts from a separation broken,

lost the daylight when the night they’d woken.

 

The hearts with one another exchanged

sounds of lust, love, and betrayal,

outward two old bodies estranged,

reminiscent youthful springs to no avail.

 

The bud of heart with an ethereal voice,

by betrayal unintentionally stepped upon,

saw the spring becoming fall by choice,

felt the winter freezing senseless bodies thereon.

 

The senses awoken the body to revive,

but an insensible torso to life doesn't return,                                                 

and March to help February thrive,

the spring left with the winter to burn.

 

And so two hearts in loneliness froze,

one with betrayal, the other with love.

 

 

 

 

2.

 

When the time comes to follow your pathway,

people have become beasts and the beasts, filet.

 

I sense that the pleasant times are gone,

as the bitterness afflicts the shrinking soul.

With your sweet childhood memories withdrawn,

hungry you are to be somebody and reach your goal.

 

But what more in this life would you want to be?

Behind every child, a man is bound.

A heart hidden within an insidious soul full of envy;

a lost time that would never again come around.

 

Somebody pretends not to feel any pain.

Someone searches for new paths with fervor.

One thinks and believes the same.

Another, the world wants to conquer.

 

But no one ever born glittering with sweetness,

escaped from this world tasting no bitterness.

 

 

 

3.

 

Somewhere in the boundless space,

my stirred eyes look without trace.

 

And you blind your eyes in vain,

your face within your hands clenching.

Two eyes as yours shed tears in pain,

as each soul does when its child's ailing.

 

You can sense that cold embrace,

which warmth to the world once gave.

In only a moment you can retrace,

all afflictions the world never forgave. 

 

Her hand around your shoulder wraps,

and on your lips, she lays hers, with ardor.

On the forehead,  "the universe", with speedy laps,

a world appears, half bairn and half mother.

 

And only for a moment you are joyous with no concern,

but feeling deep inside that a good time does not return.

 

 

 

 

4.

 

Every emotion facing the Tempest with conscience,

succeeds in thoroughly understanding ignorance.

 

Disappearing within storms you feel

abandoned like a brittle bud in May,

in a strange land where nothing seems real,

with all other flowers gone astray.

 

After a while, here will live through

another new soul from her misfortune.

Two hands burning tightly with pain anew;

two shoulders by night on midday beaten.

 

Do not cry my sweet, noble mother!

I will not be the only son on earth!

I raised you not to become world's martyr,

with my sweat and blood from birth.

 

Apart, the mouth stammers and speak the eyes,

as there are born and there will die two lives. 

 

 

 

5.

 

Someone's world drowned somewhere cruelly,

when a soldier closed his eyes eternally.

 

Why does this world like a river runs

over the heroes and bloodthirsty alike;

uglifying everything with blood and coffins,

without witnesses, writing history with a pike.

 

Somewhere in a labyrinth over the sky,

where all suffering souls the Earth liberates,

as steam from the spilled blood upwards fly

once youthful bodies, now numbers and dates.

 

So it was a long story written

with love and dreams unending.

A hapless young soul poured his passion,

yet extinguished before love experiencing.

 

Without real love he grew under command,

who taught him that first was the Fatherland.

 

 

 

 

 

6.

 

Often with spring and greeneries

we tend to recall good memories. 

 

The marvelous greensward remembering

refreshed by the aroma of beautiful flowers;

the narrow streets between houses curving,

with the wells, trees, and all spring colors.

 

For her beautiful face aglow.

For her ember flamed lips.

For my timorous silence inflow.

For all those hot summer drips.

 

An entire life with emotions filled;

for us the birds have sung in strain. 

Marrying me you will be thrilled;

a widow for me you will remain.

 

Only then I was as peaceful as a dove,

being happy and enriched by your love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

7.

 

Anxious we are for what lays on our path ahead

when dark moments of the past we tend to forget.

 

Often times I wish and pray

my good friends to see again;

to share hugs, thoughts, and one day

dig out some hoots of street laughter with them.

 

And even if as once within us we fight

bravado demonstrating like boys do,

to venture the streets by morning light

and together at night return anew.

 

But it seems as it is not meant to be

for our lives to always thrive.

Somewhere there is only beauty

elsewhere people barely survive.

 

Oh, my earth's moon that will never return

your illuminance intentions I can't discern.

 

 

 

 

 

 

8.

 

Nobody in this world can say even with laughter

that there is something more precious than a mother.

 

 

If someone ever listened even once

as her poor soul burned from yearning

quickly will dissipate this life of essence

with the cliffs and mountains aging.

 

I too have a mother like yours

a rustic gentlewoman, humble and sweet. 

I feel I am collapsing by winds of wars

as if a traitorous rifle snatches my heartbeat. 

 

Frigid I feel as I awake like stone with no scope,

since I allowed it lately each morning. 

A nightmare shattering any ray of hope

I watched while on fields as wheat sprouting.

 

And a sharp scythe mercilessly cuts me away,

tormenting my suffering soul night and day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

9.

 

Immeasurably you suffer it when life takes you away with no clue

the absence of the caring mother who can no longer protect you.

 

 

The aching heart agonizes even more

as every worrisome moment into a wrinkle turns.

As she watches her corpse over a river shore,

how can I live without ever seeing my son, within she burns?!

 

A bitter note arrived from the lost war

and quickly transformed into a piercing pain;

like an explosion three lives plucks out from afar

and those three their lives lost in vain.

 

Devastated, she tries to keep it together.

Like every mother at a loss, within she burned. 

One was thirty, a grown man the other;

the third twenty had just turned.

 

So was scorched that flame with yearning,

the same fire my soul was smoldering.

 

 

 

10. 

 

Like a heart ripped out from love and aching

suffer the flowers when dying away in spring. 

 

A disturbing dream I have seen

with a magic broom flying. 

As you both aware have been,

the youthful flowers it was mopping.

 

A Fall from above, on us, I saw falling,

with not enough flowers the world to fill.

The Sun into a lance I watched turning,

mercilessly piercing our bodies at will.

 

One by one with hands tied like captives,

as if never existed we would disappear;

briefly put in line, counted like worthless lives are a slave

shipped to a strange, far away frontier. 

 

And crying was the poor moon a bit farther

awfully dressed by black clouds like a mother.

 

 

 

 

 

11.

 

When going back in time you find

all of those people you left behind.

 

If as a portrait I see you somewhere

precious as the eyes with which you see,

in this life all look after their affair

and cry in misdeed and prosperity.

 

Life itself has taught us with caution

that her blessings we should obey,

even if the accursed separation

has always been parting us away.

 

Oh son, your aery you are deserting. 

My blessing don't leave behind.

Somewhere, when a childhood father facing,

within you keep him enshrined.

 

All that beautiful time you remembered

when a pure joyousness was fostered.

 

 

 

 

 

12.

 

I always carry with me his doctrine:

"That who deserts it is not a human".

 

That's how then our story begun,

as the spring reminds me of winter;

the most precious memory of a summer fun

which will live within my soul forever.

 

When he, my auspicious eye was born,

when we whispered softly, when we kissed,

with village colors we would adorn,

together we would be in sunshine and mist.

 

His hand over my shoulder would softly slide.

Each word his mouth poured would be so sweet.

Riding horses swiftly along the hillside,

like two real cowboys we would compete.

 

His glowing, powerful energy,

still within embraces me.

 

 

 

 

 

13.

 

A person lives for a joyous moment

building life within something brilliant.

 

This moment of rest lightly delivers me,

where a sea wave somewhere its glory adores. 

Hey crazy wave, where are you taking me?

I can uglify you and that glory of yours...

 

...to brighten your journey soldier of shadow.

To sing for you today I am anxious. 

To sing to the beautiful nescience also,

which against you has declared a war of bogus.

 

Wherever the stream takes us together,

an inglorious crack will explode;

one soul, two hearts, keeping forever,

a heart always cries when is widowed.

 

And painfully for you I am sobbing,

only for a beautiful day I am praying.

 

 

 

 

 

14.

 

If a hurried tocsin sounds within my soul,

somewhere the darkness is taking its toll.

 

 

But let this gigantic eruption be

the road of a life, like a book opening,

in the bloody pages of a history,

spilled by the tyrants in terror reigning.

 

When agonizing silence and clamor

everywhere are heard as suffering hearts cry,

those like me wandering the streets in horror,

to cope without our loved ones try.

 

Faraway they have traveled toward a dawn

which is neither born nor dies ever again,

and the precious dreams are forgone

in pathways forgotten and broken.

 

Take a listen to a bell sounding

with voices from tyranny erupting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

15.

 

When the world is surrounded by terror

Devil's overreaching and suffering people burst in anger.

 

You take your letter now and start writing

what your heart and mind can no longer hold;

for the nights they have been incinerating,

and the war we fought like lions for somebody else's gold!

 

Show how bullets the tears pierced,

how kids became war heroes,

how shrapnel the hearts shattered,

how the myriad of women burned in rows.

 

Write about the power of fire blazing,

how the human soul it burns with a deathblow,

about the infants over the mountain crawling,

like little bunnies blooded on the snow.

 

And don't forget that each infant killed today

could have become a king someday.

 

 

 

 

16.

 

When love full of anguish despairs,

though it's not its habit, contempt it declares.

 

This heart of mine doesn't cry of danger

but it covets more the beauty.

In these foreign enemy lands in armor,

my love despair I remember clearly.

 

I said this first to myself, uncertain,

since to express it, I didn't dare.

Love doesn't come like the dejection,

the body knows how to take care.

 

That's how they both connect,

the mind and the body, in a system.

As they both naturally deject

the anguish and the excess, in a rhythm.

 

They say that one loses the mind before he dies,

but one with a heart full of love, is not afraid of craziness. 

 

 

 

 

17.

 

If you don't want the despair judging you,

let go of that languish within break through.

 

To survive I want and be on my way to you quickly,

like an infant for the mother’s breast milk searching.

Within your afflicted soul, warm you keep me,

as if when with someone you love, an ailment sharing.

 

As a mother loves her baby, I treasured you

like a beautiful dream without ending.

The mind is like a piece of soft tissue,

which serves the soul of the human being.

 

That's how I describe you, always cool,

with the endless greenery of the eyes.

My life, to serve you, I would use as a tool,

even if it was eternal like the beautiful skies.

 

And in the endless sky I fly

to find my salvation I try. 

 

 

 

 

 

18.

 

The soul always makes the body go,

keeping its own worthiness in flow.

 

My soul revives you every time you die,

each time the nightmares cover you with fear. 

Within this war it has become a habit to try,

fighting with the same tactic in each frontier.

 

Being closer to death than ever

you are always in my mind.

A man cannot protect himself forever,

with enemy bullets behind.

 

Yet one more time I survive,

when the battle ends, I  see you again,

as you slowly toward me arrive,

dressed in a black veil, not in pink like then.

 

If the agonizing soul starts singing

only its lament, out will be bringing.

 

 

 

 

 

19.

 

While himself the soldier abandons

his bell sounds much louder than canons.

 

 

In the evening a shadow of darkness I feel

and my mind fills my heart with fear.

Anxious, I hurt from this ordeal;

to run the way I want, and disappear.

 

Not because I fear the death's shadow

already crawling within me.

But near a beauty I want to go,

who somewhere peacefully runs free.

 

In some other arms, you I am imagining,

forgotten me you have, and betrayed.

From a piercing jealousy, death I am forgetting,

but even before death, loving you, and I'm not afraid.

 

But what value could have your crime,

when you have not known this soul of mine.

 

 

 

 

 

20.

 

When clamor the chills disperses away,

even if I am alive, he was killed, they'll say.

 

 

If you'd ever hear my agonizing shriek

as if coming from a gruesome cavern,

if being out of my sight, you seek,

nothing unknown, is worth the concern.

 

But I was waiting for a longer moment

to fondle your golden hair,

as we are waiting at this front,

for the heart stoppage of Julius Caesar.

 

Don't pay attention to my madness,

I would tell my soldier friends,

one of each today fell unconscious,

by a piercing bullet in my hands.

 

But as long as we are alive, will fight,

for each other, to the end, day and night.

 

 

 

 

21.

 

The unknown it’s only a nest you will find

until your destiny is defined.

 

A new, unknown day somewhere is waiting

filled with death, despair, anguish, and scars.

All day with bullets we've been talking

until we even killed the mother of the stars.

 

Until, alive, no one we left standing,

no echo, voice, or beating heart;

the battleground with blood painting,

so many dreams shattering apart.

 

Handsome he was and exceptional,

Bruck Hands was his name;

an admirable, audacious colossal,

a great legend he became.

 

But whatever thinks a calamitous person,

the most fierce animal on earth is the human.

 

 

22.

 

A person causes the other’s reaction

with cold looks and bitter words spoken.

 

Relax, so insolent, don't pretend to be,

in my arms, you, I've always been holding;

like a second heart, you are to me,

soundly, closer to mine, beating.

 

In the hours and minutes you're missing

your portrait, with me, I carry.

Though, betrayed by an impudent feeling,

still, after you, I run briskly.

 

I have eyes to only see your mirror,

as it breaks within my frail eyes.

Though, my envy is just a blunder,

it's not our relationship’s demise.

 

Blindness, I am willing to go through,

indeed, if the cause it was you.

 

 

 

 

23.

 

From two motives arising for a fight,

one more than the other, was solid upright.

 

For some unworthy reason

hidden I kept my love for you.

Within dogs’ reason, people are hidden,

when like barking dogs they pursue.

 

So I think and never find reasoning

to cease the ardor within, for you;

in my short sleep, I find awakening,

when dreaming, my eyes only see you.

 

Only for you, I think the dream is knitted,

because the whole world for you is dreaming.

This confined world which keeps me stranded,

forever has been yours, with all its charming.

 

Within, I have a genuine feeling,

where you are lost without trailing.

 

 

24.

 

There’s a reason when a body part is hurting

and my soul into a body part is turning.

 

As if it was triumphant, you get out of your way,

for the perversity, driving through, furiously. 

From the bitter news, my soul quivered today,

as the guitar strings resonate melancholically.

 

But the soul carries heavier load than we feel,

composed by a mixture of joy and pain.

When half of what is in us, we want to reveal,

furtively, the other half, we would retain.

 

When the darkness, over it, dominates,

half of the soul we feel, complaining,

because the other half awaits,

in silence, from the other half, absolving.

 

That is why my soul suffers in strain,

when I am imbued with joy and pain.

 

 

 

 

 

25.

 

Where the dream alive, for the soldier, remained

there, the gravity, its force maintained.

 

It exists, the human gravity,

from the earth, its energy has attained.

When the heart, martyr for the soul becomes, bravely,

it means, the first love, has made it pained.

 

As a flower which blossoms and sees

for the first time, its world, dazedly.

Though, its life shortly flies like a breeze,

what it wants, it will see, surely.

 

And so do people, live hoping,

that sometime will see, that who we love.

As long as we breathe, for beauty we're searching,

though, strangers we are, for everything below and above.

 

Strangers we were born and will remain

and then someday, strangers will die again.

 

 

 

26.

 

A man believes in immortality,

filling his days with juvenility.

 

I often believe that I was born immortal,

a stone, up on the mountain, quenchless.

A person in love, is eternal,

with an indescribable briskness.

 

He feels like an endless sea,

where he was loved by the playful fish,

and every fire he turns into char, bravely

though, with blood, pain, and anguish.

 

As long as it lives, the world is happy.

The flowers stay full-blown in eternity.

The eye and the ear show clearly,

the life of our infinity.

 

A man thinks he won't die, though, dying is a routine,

while, life and death keep him in between.

 

 

 

 

27.

 

 

Sometimes, when the unloved, loving

it’s like your heart, with venom, filling.

 

 

May you separation be cursed, like betrayal!

Let them name you, so you won't find

in people, where love stays cheerful,

even though, within us, you wake up frigidly unkind.

 

This dead sea, where nobody sails its blue waterways,

this withered heart, which a feeling, no longer can contain,

the love, that every ill-fated one, betrays,

will be gone and no sign will remain.

 

Thus, a mountain, demolished by a volcanic hellhole,

as over it, another mountain, being reborn,

resemble a body with a burning soul,

the alacrity, cannot change a dead body's bourn.

 

That's why we love the unloved,

because their volcano makes them beloved.

 

 

 

28.

 

When, what we want in life, we want to know,

we come and go, but have nothing to show.

 

Enjoy yourself beautiful girl and rejoice!

For you, utters each poet of pain, in an emotional release,

For you, each hero, makes a victorious choice,

whether if he is a man of war, or peace.

 

I've always coveted you,

though you never knew me.

Together, like the very few,

we give our lives for our precious country.

 

Though, we’ll be lost somewhere,

where wheat no longer grows,

somebody here will make us aware,

someone will accompany us up, where the sky glows. 

 

This world was created for the living,

even though, our destiny, is dying.

 

 

 

29.

 

When joyous, to you, I fly,

I only breathe love in the sky.

 

So I gambol with the stars at night

and they also are with me, playing.

Some of my friends are sleeping tight.

Some others sleep, tomorrow's fear hugging.

 

As I slide, as free as ever,

my thoughts, wipe your tears.

Three months into a dark winter,

turned the months into years.

 

So, with the anxiety embracing,

the light of dawn, finds me.

A body, just awoken, hurting,

from chills of longing, deeply. 

 

But the bird of hope with my voice is singing,

with my song, to you, it is flying.

 

 

 

30.

 

 

The gowk narrates about the nightingale, longing,

when only about a clear, open space, dreaming.

 

Within this wide open space,

where paranoia lands, grappling,

where good and bad come face-to-face,

there, the need is more pressing.

 

Let us confront the agitation

our minds and hearts, connecting;

search for the unknown temptation,

finding a name for what's missing.

 

And I, a beautiful name,

still unsaid and unwritten,

with the death shadow in frame,

with my blood have written.

 

Here, only your shadow will remain

because all, their livelihood try to maintain.

 

 

 

 

31.

 

The soldier, dreaming, as if awake in delight,

sleeps and breathes love, day and night.

 

Over a beech leaf I saw you,

half light and half darkness.

The night, my eyes, pierced through,

savoring an image of goddess.

 

Over the body of a rock so high,

I stood, digging my heels on its stiffness.

Nothing like a light, gleesome cry,

drives the soldier into madness.

 

I finally arrived at your top, ahead,

where nothing saw, my eyes open wide

You must be crazy, a voice within, vainly said. 

The enemy doesn't pass on that side.

 

I cannot longer recall when I saw you last.

Only a moment of separation feels like ages past.

 

 

 

 

 

32.

 

When the madness stone heavily weighs,

a curse upon himself a man lays.

 

My world I have surrounded

with stones of glory and pain.

My soul with a dream has bonded.

A lifetime dream, people maintain.

 

As I fight with fury,

shielded by my precious stones,

the sinister can not harm my soul and body;

the bullets can not pierce my bones.

 

Very fortunate I have been, I realize,

unlike my friends who death has seized.

On the edge I feel, likewise,

since death never seems appeased.

 

A proud man, before death, undressed I stand,

as it, open armed awaits for me, grinning in this wasteland.

 

 

 

33.

 

 

Languidness isn't any principle's foundation. 

As joy disappears, born are sadness and frustration.

 

Why do I excessively talk about languidness?

We, the people, it seems were born to languish.

Sometimes, I pass the nighttime, in madness,

Having nothing to work with, I concoct rubbish.

 

The soldier’s mind so far wanders.

Only death can reach that pathway,

into distant  lands, groundsels, and borders,

where mothers’ feeble eyes, longing melt away.

 

There, where my colossal

appears tall, within decrepit flags.

I can see it clear, it is real,

embroidered with friends’ name  tags.

 

So, I stay awake, languishing,

together, the dark night, passing.

 

 

 

 

34.

 

In order to become a self doctor,

one must know the pain of truth to capture.

 

This languidness, my soul gnaws. 

I helplessly wonder who can help me.

Like a person crashed by hopelessness' jaws,

despising myself and the society.

 

In the lost sky I sometime descend,

from my tent's small window.

A star falls from above to its end. 

I feel like it's me and my shadow.

 

With half opened eyes by aridity,

the battle of tomorrow I await in exhaust.

Time I don't have, to cry like a baby,

who mother's feeding breast today lost.

 

That's why this languidness I cannot protect,

in this world, where mostly death seems to transcend.

 

 

 

 

 

35.

 

 

A dream often evokes a reality,

which evermore can punish us amply.

 

Every night goes by, sleepless.

With the glory of life and death I’m contending.

The dreams took me nowhere but bleakness.

Into the sea of madness I’m swimming.

 

In the middle of an inflected crest

I slide, and into a ditch I fall.

Only the war I see as a dream quest,

and the executioner above me, standing tall.

 

I run so hastily, I run in vain,

a nymph of a fairytale to find.

courage from my fallen friends I gain,

their memories often play in my mind.

 

I loved my brothers in arms and I always will. 

How can I live with out them, I don't know still.

36.

 

Captives of time are all of us,

as long as we have it as metastasis.

 

Time never disdains but protects,

a man like me, at my age,

like a mother her child protects,

from this crazy world’s rage.

 

I most certainly intend,

a bit of time to take, with gentleness.

I speak with her like with an old friend

and she replies with much friendliness.

 

But when I try to turn back the time,

to see again those who gave their life bravely,

she appears to be ugly and slime,

taking many loved ones away from me.

 

Whoever the time befriends,

without noticing, into her slave descends.

 

 

 

 

 

37.

 

Pride is a sign of virtues,

a mind, the heart imbues.

 

Poet I am not, to write about your eyes,

so truthful, my heart cannot forget.

I admire your look and my soul cries.

That's how I will always suffer in regret.

 

Charming, just as you desired,  I have become.

Like a strong rod has blossomed my body.

I will not find a man more virile and gleesome

not only in the village but in the entire country.

 

I want your eyes to look at me;

your lips, my body to cover with kisses.

In the winter nights to keep me warm and cozy,

like an angel holds her idol, for ages. 

 

Even of myself I am envious.

I imagine you looking at me, breathless.

 

 

 

 

 

38.

 

 

The youth values the juvenescent alteration,

as it bestows the manhood, leaving behind aversion. 

 

Like an altar I can now stand beside you

and you will no longer see me with a disdain.

I carry the hatred and the manly feeling I value. 

Like you advised me, strong and brave I remain.

 

I can now protect you from evil;

from the wicked thieves and liars.

I can watch over you like a guardian angel.

Alone, I can face the enemy fighters.

 

Accept me, disappointed you won't be, I know

and the many years you have ahead to discover

unnoticed, when you undress, will smoothly go,

as with my muscles and warmth I will cover. 

 

Receive me, and tell me you love me

and like a May flower I will treasure you blindly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

39.

 

The lone desire of an enamored

is by the adorable to be adored. 

 

The freshness your mother has bestowed you

together let us melt outright.

Physical and passionate I am all way through,

as a hero of countless glories I come to you tonight.

 

Dance along my charm!

Touched and light as a feather.

Ignore the intended harm,

the villagers’ eyes harbor. 

 

With only my look, I am certain

your contempt can be tamed.

When a man really turns on a woman,

even her eyes are inflamed.

 

Never look at me again scornfully

but as a lover, over me, dance playfully.

 

40.

 

The soldier knits so many dreams

since no river, for him, streams.

 

As I return, flying with arms opened,

I see you smiling, waiting for me.

That's how you my love, I dreamed,

Yearning for you pierced my soul deeply. 

 

In the beginning, like a couple engaged

soon announcing the marriage date. 

With my soul frazzled and far away caged,

that great hour, to treasure, I await.

 

This way, time will have plenty,

with birds to fill our nest.

When a river joins the sea

the fish multiply themselves, abreast.

 

Always for this archness I am dying,  

though I am very young and trying.

 

 

 

 

 

 

41.

 

A beautiful word from a soul in love can fly

even more gracefully than any butterfly.

 

Every sweet word my heart expresses

and many other ones I have discerned,

each beautiful song my soul caresses,

twice, for both of us, to sing I have learned.

 

Everything existing within me

and the entire surroundings,

everything which lives through eternity,  

has once lived, on the ancient crumblings.

 

Your virtue is a part of me. 

I willingly give you everything.

A little nap needs my tired body.

That is why my eyes are slowly closing.

 

I swear on my eyes, it is true!

They stay opened only for you.

 

 

 

 

42.

 

I ask my dreams, as I search for wisdom:

What is more precious than freedom?

 

Many things, foolish make me feel,

defeating my every splendor.

Even the splendor seems surreal,

when I don't have who to share it with ardor.

 

When my dreams fly high to the mountains,

I hold myself back because I don't have you

to talk about my anxiety and tensions,

to share my fears and those dreams too.

 

It is a deep soldier anxiety,

like bullets and blood smelling;

sleeping in caves, often hungry

the wild animals imitating.

 

But it does not matter what I am saying

when for freedom here we are fighting.

 

 

 

 

 

43. 

 

In my hands I hold you, as a brittle flower,

though the heart will be ripped out by horror.

 

Your eye embroidered so masterfully,

appears before me, tearful.

Our loss it mourns painfully,

with its overclouded sky, doleful.  

 

Thus, I seem to feel unworthy,

its membrane, somewhere to hide.

The beauty, like life seems to be,

which staggers us in its mysterious ride. 

 

At that eye, I stop my running

and for love I search there, too;

like two hands a flower holding,

with delicacy and virtue.

 

Ah, poor I am when you are not with me,

my heart, how it cries for you, to see.

 

 

 

 

 

44.

 

To find the power within, one must be willing

to at least live like a decent human being.

 

Ah, why am I not all-powerful,

the hurt within your soul, to rip out?

Your son, glorious and manful,

has become quite devout.

 

With what does all of this resemble?

You, whose heart even a joy cannot take.

People are dying and in the same circle

other charlatans will partake.

 

Into small fragments it will be fissured. 

Like a lonely heart it will wither.

Such, has my poor heart suffered,

loving you like a real mother.

 

About you I think day and night, good mother.

You should know, your kindness, I will always remember.

 

 

 

 

 

45.

 

For the one who dies, the pain stops.

Into the living left behind, it hops.

 

Augustin Jimenez’  body we carried,

but his deeds are not forgotten.

At the edge of a slope, him we buried,

Within a fresh violets’ natural garden.

 

As, about death, he was talking,

only a few days before they killed him.

For a grave full of garlands, he was hoping,

in the thousand flowers’ nectar he wanted to swim.

 

But a man dies, no longer knowing

If his supreme will, will be fulfilled.

His relatives give him a brushing,

His dreams along with his body were killed.

 

What a dead man wants, does not matter.

Like the living, no longer he will suffer.

 

 

 

 

 

46.

 

When mountains rise up quietly,

engorge any kingdom fiercely.

 

Within we hide our fears

from the overcast sky.

With each other do not share tears,

when like migrating terns we fly.

 

Where would this dark night take us

the storm and its thunders will not say.

Pushing trees and leaves with roughness

dislodging them into spaces faraway.

 

That is how our minds it captures

the fear storm, without mercy.

Far like an echo, do not reach the clamors,

but freeze in the cold mornings cruelly.

 

A fear frightens the soldier, but keeps him alive,

that is how he is able, his journey to survive.

 

 

 

 

 

47.

 

When she is not near while her son needs his mother,

he feels as if the world cannot carry him any longer.

 

It is a time fever, not mockery.

As I disgorge, fire from the fever I take.

a miracle by my mother’s hands only

can sooth my longing heartache.

 

Albert stays awake with me

singing one of our songs.

Your voice I want to hear only;

to the harassing fever this solution belongs.

 

He gives me a spoon after another;

along with a gall, many other herbs.

The sick burning with nostalgia’s fervor,

Resembles the winter, when the spring disturbs.

 

As I burn from the fiery fever

more nostalgic I get, over and over.

 

 

 

 

 

48.

 

An honor, for a man, is the glory,

when others venerate his acts and story.

 

I hear the trumpet beating soundly,

resembling the voices of the fallen.

That is how it will beat eternally,

like the sea within big waves, swollen.

 

Because the sea, their blood, washes

along with everybody’s dreams.

That is why like a mirror surface glazes,

among darkness, the light beams.

 

So, life is not worth it and gracious;

sometimes tarnished and sometimes bright.

Nothing seems to be more precious

than sacrificing life, for the glory limelight.

 

Whether is infant, child, young or old

all people live for glory, not for gold.

 

 

 

 

 

49.

 

People always punish one another

knowing they will not live forever.

 

Where is the vengeance cradled?

Within people they say and are not lying.

Ever since they have been divided and handled,

people, one another, keep punishing.

 

That is why forward they pushed everything.

with the help of the heartless devil.

Beautiful is this Saturday evening.

Amused we climb the mountain, looking agile.

 

And, even if it was not gravely

the shot that sent Albert to his end,

a bullet always hurts badly,

even in the body of a friend.

 

Soon as I heard that damned bullet burst,

it felt like my inept lungs it pierced first.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

50.

 

When two sworn foes clash in spite

until death they will fight.

 

Tooth and nail like the lions,

we combated the enemy. 

They are the evil, we are the tyrants.

Tyrants always defeat the evil army.

 

So hungry for revenge, burning like a fuse

our rifles pierced the stones.

Mouths could not hold the abuse,

which had only been used by gun’s muzzles.

 

And the lions strong as are known

against all other animals, win.

like each dominating beast has shown,

so split our platoon from within.

 

From the enemy, none were left breathing,

Though, that did not bring Albert back to the living.

 

 

 

 

51.

 

People are separated by life’s chains.

Existent and inexistent, all have names.

 

A pain enchains me,

grappling me within.

To proclaim goodness purely,

one must be free of sin.

 

Yet, like worthless filth bounded

all around us, ingrained,

the good and bad are separated,

though, they both are enchained.

 

Nothing but chains in this lifetime.

Generations with chains bound,

accurately separated by time;

the perverse and the sound.

 

And, whenever a man cries out for being at a loss,

just another link he is, in the chain of chaos.

 

 

 

 

 

52.

 

Though, setting traps to stop the aberration,

there is no end to the agitation.

 

Frustration does not seem to be a vice.

A virtue, it should certainly not be.

When it and I, play it nice,

each other we beat, lightly.

 

It surely lures my mind

though, I calmly jab it on its side.

My heart it deafens, not my mind,

as I too, deafen it along the ride.

 

But when we both revolt together,

and its stick bends with fury,

for hundreds of galls I become an arbor;

split in hundreds pieces is my body.

 

And though hard I get whipped by frustration,

there is no end to my agitation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

53.

 

Beautiful and flavorsome are its days,

when life shows all its pathways. 

 

They say that life is beautiful,

but beauty has its boundaries.

If a man wants to feel joyful,

to the fullest, he should live with ease.

 

I have a reason for a contemplation

and myself to ask about life's beauty.

The time enriches with delectation,

like the nature with reality.

 

So, tell me if I am not right

that a young soldier's heart is broken.

The truth I am telling you, outright.

The war, my beauty has taken.

 

And what beauty have I seen in trenches?

Only guns, blood, and corpses.

 

 

 

 

 

54.

 

Part of a person's life is the despair,

as it grasps the soul like a nightmare. 

 

Once I heard the word desperation.

It, I wanted to ignore.

But today, I am diffracting it with frustration,

when desperation like cloths I wore.

 

We go everywhere, like two acquaintances,

ever since I can remember, vaguely.

I implore it full of duskiness.

Full of dawns it implores me.

 

And so, together we pass the nights,

talking with one another.

We sing for peace and life's delights,

and it starts talking about St. Peter.

 

But why be concerned with holy affairs,

when we consider ourselves bears?

 

 

 

 

 

55.

 

The triumph over the life of another,

does not satisfy the laws of St. Peter.

 

There is no triumph that serves the honor,

if after the issue, for which you are searching,

the value you keep for yourself, and the other

you banish, his life taking.

 

No matter how cruel one can be

who for a cause, takes a life with a freewill,

his mind is guiding him blindly,

if he thinks, callously he should kill.

 

Yet, when the mind is incapable of reasoning

and as a reward, bitterness bestows,

leave it to the heart to do the guiding.

The heart is engraved by countless sorrows.

 

When a distracted mind is taken by illness,

from the broken heart, is full of distress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

56.

 

A man’s judgment should be peaceful;

shorter might be his life, but graceful.

 

But, who left the grace aside for heroes?

Many other people live gracefully.

He who unties himself from shackles,

by everyone is considered free.

 

Yet, you become your own enemy

if you live with tightened shackles,

or a friend who lives in slavery;

for you, everybody cries and smiles.

 

If this way, your thoughts, you imprison,

afraid that soon you will be perished, 

a song, your soul will poison,

if the entire world is vanquished. 

 

If in a war, a man feels like a hero and wants to succeed,

his friends toward the victory he must lead.

 

 

 

 

 

57.

 

A beautiful shade youthfulness permeates,

when the amorous times escape the memory gates.

 

 

The beautiful juvenescent dream,

a new horizon brightened suddenly.

Back you came like down’s gleam,

quickly energizing my entire body.

 

 

More often, your name, I whisper,

like a desert, in my mouth, I keep it.

Everywhere, like daylight, you glitter,

On me, your energy, I want you to omit.

 

And, with a sweet kiss, to soften

the gaiety, badly crushing me.

Separating from you felt like poison,

day by day, killing me slowly.

 

As, with my rough  hands, I touch you,

like a joyous animal, I feel, anew.

 

 

 

 

 

58.

 

The smartest animal on earth, humans remain,

with a very elaborate mind and brain.

 

Even the animals love, they say.

What belongs to them, they feel.

Everywhere, love stories go astray.

Broken hearts take a while to heal.

 

Heated like a sword in a battle,

with both rival sides fuming,

neither a word nor a rifle,

me, will not be stopping.

 

Your hidden charm, I discern

behind a brushwood, in front of me.

I do not feel the bullet burn.

Only my vision fades quickly.

 

No longer, this dream, I will proclaim,

how for you, a groom I became.

 

 

 

59.

 

Even death evokes something beautiful,

if, within the dream, makes one joyful.

 

With my eyes opened, for you, I am looking,

Open armed, have fallen, with adjuration.

As I ache, to stop you, I am trying.

Myself, I am cursing, without compassion.

 

I do not like awakening, I love you only.

Joyfully, you and I dance together.

But, my blinded eyes, betray me.

Soldiers line up, in and out, in order.

 

From my scream, they are all frightened.

Some open their eyes, others just run.

In the same place, my eyes, you blinded,

I want you to return, with reason. 

 

Even if the cold death had taken me,

separated from this dream, I did not want to be.

 

 

 

 

60.

 

Someone, the world, has cursed,

since death is everywhere disbursed.

 

To whom does this cursed world belong?

Some say to humans, to nature, say others.

The bad and the unfortunate, say that along,

to better display their real colors.

 

But a great mystery, it does involve,

for centuries, throughout time annals.

 

By human mind is difficult to solve,

why people imitate the animals?

 

And so, people, even though alive,

mercilessly, one another, to eat, desire.

Who resists humanity’s wrath, will thrive;

big as an ocean, will be his Empire.

 

But, when a human resists another fiercely,

it is as, a candle flame, facing the wind, bravely.

 

 

61.

 

The soldier enjoys the triumphal journey,

though he steps over the loser's destiny.

 

When over triumph’s layer he reasons,

raising his voice, victoriously,

blinded he is by the victory passions,

from the road of defeat, to separate briskly.

 

When, being near his, he tries,

but somehow, his mind is wondering,

the world collapses in front of his eyes,

and he says: "truly, I must be dreaming".

 

Aggravations collapse the joy,

and a man feels like their slave.

One's entire world they destroy, 

whatever origin they may have.

 

And only for a short time, the triumph glows,

as along with applause, it slowly goes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

62.

 

People within, hide a messenger,

sometimes is real and sometimes a liar.

 

One, at some point, may have heard,

when ears ring so sharply.

A new message, for me tailored,

will tussle in my mind shortly. 

Overcome, I am by anxiety.

Something, somewhere far may happen.

Of my mother and my girl it reminds me.

Death, maybe my father, has taken.

 

With diabetes, has been suffering, my mother.

My father, with a liver disease, has lived painfully.

My girl, perhaps has died from the horror,

which, did not leave her any hope about me.

 

But the ear, the being deceives,

when all messages, one believes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

63.

 

When stopped at the edge of disdain,

one climbs over loss’ pain. 

 

The disdain my love, is not an honor,

knocking on your golden gate outright.

A tear particle, a drop, is no longer,

like the day, one cannot turn into night.

 

They told me, that another man loving,

they saw you, in a rainy day.

So, your old love, you are abandoning.

What else, your loss will take away?

 

A prey of your disdain,

I did not deserve to die before,

the triumph of this night, in vain,

to punish me like a traitor, to the core.

 

Because, a man dies only

when love treats him badly. 

 

 

 

64.

 

The bitterness is the same

even when its taste has no aim.

 

When bad news is in store for one,

and the key it finds, to unlock the mind,

entire world's reason, will die for certain,

and one, with it together, slowly, aligned.

 

But as one feels the poison quickly,

irrupting, and poisoning his sad eyes,

the soul grasps the heart, with anxiety,

until, it comes out of the mouth, with sighs.

 

Strained, he tastes the acridity,

of a sinful message, anxious.

Such things make a man ugly,

dispersing him into madness.

 

Yet, no matter how much you have betrayed me,

my heart, will never forget your beauty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

65.

 

People in life, a course follow.

Without love, live does not flow.

 

The desire, I have no longer

back to my village, returning.

Often, I think it would be better,

if forever, here, I was living.

 

When the battle arrives as a dark shadow,

I do not guard against the enemy as before.

There is nothing that back there, makes me go,

since from love, I have been hurt, even more.

 

Because, I always hid for you,

avoiding the bloodthirsty bullet, trying to catch me.

Like a storm, the enemy I would pursue, 

having you, as a shield, protecting my body.

 

But, I swear, I will not guard against the enemy,

until their deadly bullets, find me.

 

 

 

66.

 

When a soldier’s dreams are shattered,

anxiety, his life darkens like a blizzard. 

 

Now, my days into nights, are turning. 

I feel my heart is bursting with sadness.

My free spirit from betrayal is burning.

If you knew, you would not be so heartless.

 

Perhaps, not every girl thinks bleakly

that the man she loves, in a war, dies. 

A war is not a grave for everybody,

though, it is mostly pain and outcries.

 

He who has the most experienced eye,

the strongest heart, and spirit full of wisdom,

somehow, the enemy will defy,

and even death will overcome.

 

But, if all girls, your thoughts maintain,

then, no soldier standing, will remain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

67.

 

As I sit on the edge of contempt, painfully,

with you in my mind, I am a slave of your beauty.

 

But, contempt is death and death is rife,

which the indolence, commiserates at another.

In order to return again a shadow of life

someone, must find at it, love and pleasure. 

 

My love back, you must give me,

so, in my mind, I can live with you.

If I come back from the war, you do not have to be friendly,

but, your joy I want to protect me, as the enemy I pursue.

 

You must understand that I need

your brightness to shine my way.

For your blessing, to save me, I plead.

It will keep the enemy away.

 

You, my dear girl, should clearly understand

that when I shoot the enemy, you sleep in my hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

68.

 

Where the good has been, the bad has also stepped,

though, it is hard for our desires, to accept.

 

The good and the bad come together.

Fortune and grief, bring them alongside.

Even if we remain friends forever,

many scandals, life will accompany aside.

 

Wherever I look, I can only see

hopeless soldiers with broken spirits.

Time itself despises them bleakly.

Misfortune, from loved ones, them separates. 

 

Today, I really feel a soldier’s strain,

in the midst of the greenish crowd, I stand.

Like them, desires I drag like a heavy chain,

though, the future seems murky, in a foreign land.

 

Yet, though hoping in the future, to rejoice,

to survive today, fighting is the only choice.

 

 

 

69.

 

There is no difference between you and me.

Even my soul says that loudly.

 

I have told you about my age, sincerely.

It is like a word spoken without a meaning.

And I do not care, necessarily,

as long as besides me, you are standing.

 

They said you are with an old man,

looking together like night and day.

Rivals you are like two Kings with a plan,

setting ambushes, one another to betray.

 

And your clear eyes, at all, do not go

with his empty, old, wrinkled eyes.

Smart people would know

the abnormality to despise.

 

But anyhow, you might best know,

if in this world, there was no better fellow.