monkeyhood

Monkeyhood

 

I am observing the world

whose very act of existing

has made us claim

that it is the only world to exist.

 

I am observing

the shadows of the sun

when suddenly the monkey

appears again, opening

that window

below my language.

 

It picks up all my words

and chews them, only to spit

them out while producing

a grotesque sound of pleasure.

 

I’ve seen this monkey many times,

he comes from the world within

that is populated by innumerable monkeys.

 

They all seek the only thing

they claim is real: monkeyhood.

Monkeyhood is hidden

deep in their jungle,

it can be eaten, soft caramel-like

substance that it is.

 

But only a few monkeys are able

to reach this sacred core.

 

The monkeys that visit me

are those that for whatever reason

have stopped seeking monkeyhood.

 

They would rather appear

unannounced in this world,

to taste a few fragments of illusion –

as I believe they once called it.

 

I sit watching the shadows of the sun,

here below the clouds while I describe

the indistinct quality of being alive.

Simplicity

poem_pablo_saborio_2017

 

There is in
my shadow a rock
that seems to be a rose.
This is,
to be brief,
the reality of an appearance.
The field of mist: life.
In it, a hard substance
that imitates the softness of love.
I am spectator and hungry stage.
Everything is busy.
As I am.
Trying, I am trying to be a place
for things to dwell inside me.
I only see the there.
Otherwise to taste nothing
and find it so sweet.
I can look at you, you’re it
that piece of motion that
clings to change.
So am I, besides anything essential.
Here is in that one shadow
a tiny stone we can taste.
Yes, it is really a cloud
without hope of being
like a flower above the sea.