Bohemians Nights

"There was a time when I wrote poetry, those times when the world was simpler and the direction was a straight line. When I grew up I lost all my writing and the lines turned like a tumbleweed. The city, its lights and its noise, it is impossible for me to maintain a single thought. Sometimes when silence reigns in insomnia, bohemian nights awaken and some poetry come to a piece.

“My life is an open book with a twist.”

As I said, my art has been my salvation. At the age of 33 I lost every sense of direccion. My daughters were my angels, my only touch of reality. It took me almost 10 years and a body of work to be able to comprehend what was broken inside of me. To underestand a silence disease, the one that eveybody shout-“Its only inside your head.”


Buscando a Madre.(Español)

Buscando a Madre.
Donde divaga Madre?
Divaga entre los cuartos de su fragmentada mente
 Ha perdido el norte.
El rumbo de las Cosas esenciales.
En el diván duermen sus sueños,
 la fuerza y vida que ella da.
 La oscuridad se acerca y
Los buitres acechan.
Saldremos a buscarla, 
la despertaremos de su letargo, 
la traeremos a la realidad.

Looking for Mother.(English)
Where wanders, Mother?
She wonders in rooms of a fragmented mind.
 She has lost the North,
the focus where the essential things are. 
On the couch, sleeps the dreams, strength, and life that she gives. 
The darkness is coming and
The vultures are lurking.
We need to get to  her,
 we will wake her from her slumber,
We will bring her to reality

Recuerda Matusagarati (Español)

A la memoria de los desmemoriados.
Y me dije ,
Esta cerca la hoguera!
Esta cerca la hoguera!
Y me pregunte,
Cómo será el atardecer en Pluto ?
Si hay memoria en los desmemoriados ?
Si pereceremos todos juntos?
O quizás el mañana es
el pasado que se pierde
en un futuro.
Y me pregunte,
En que tiempos estamos?
cómo sería vivir más allá del tiempo.

Remember Matusagarati (English)

To the memory of the forgetful.
And I said to myself,
The bonfire is near!
The bonfire is near!
And I asked myself,
what will the sunset be like in Pluto?
If there is memory in the forgetful?
Will we all perish together?
Or maybe tomorrow is
the past that is lost
in the future.
And I asked myself
What times are we in
And what it would be like to live beyond time.

10/4/2020 Quarantine Times Poetry
.Mayra Moreno