Author: Pablo Saborio

new lands

Sphinx in Aarhus

           There are things
best left unsaid
lest the great sphinx
of the open mystery
laughs
at my foolishness
she knows
ultimately, life
is like the open sky
and words
are clouds I hold on to
to break my
                    fall.
 

Modern Poetry

empollar

Empollar_poeta

 La cordura
se me desamarró
como el cordón
del zapato
miraba el cielo
como un cráter
de lava oceánica
y me percaté
que esos cuatro o cinco pájaros
que se aterrizaron en la esquina
de un techo
conspiraban en su jolgorio
la conquista del mundo
su meticuloso plan para transformar
esta tierra en
un gran nido
hecho de tierra, agua, aire y fuego
y  estaría yo ahí
en el fondo del nicho
esperando una gran lombriz
que me aplastaría
como un huevo nulo
con nada
adentro.

 

 

Poesía Nihilista

arrived when born

Do I deserve existence
I disperse the line of the path
before me
I give up my actions
to become an agent of unguided motion
if solitude had coordinates
the universe would still be too small
the horizon swells inside me
twilight is cascading under lids
of two undeserving eyes
whatever I know decays
into the nameless
moment
precipitation of complexity
the deluge
of being human.

 

 

just like that

just_like_that

Language is not beautiful.
It is cruel, confused, sad.
This is how I start my novel.
In the streets, in inexplicable tears.
Too late to review what’s happened.
The cars rushing by, motion.
Great lives begin in doubt.
Heroic lives succumb in despair.
Anonymous lives like ours, we just die.
I begin my unorthodox survival,
by denying everything.
What are the boundaries of a chapter
when there are no categories?
Language is not a beauty.
It is raw, boom, slack.
This is how I start my novel.

polvo de diario

tengo 28 años
y dejo una parcela de diario,
lo dejo plasmado
en mi exilio
en el viaje

en el cambio
que envuelve la verdad
como la noche abriga el silencio

dejo mi diario silencioso
como una postdata
a lo que el lenguaje
nunca pudo expresar

dejo una minúscula obra
de aventuras
perdida en el espiral
del tiempo
que no lleva
punto final.

 

 

sui generis

A portrait of nothingness –

the tininess in between the worlds

the invisible underlying cup

a blank canvas for the painted universe

absent undisturbed gulf

the sleep that dreams me

                  while I play hardball

                        with the junkies of pursuits.

 

Nihilistic Poetry

once existed

To once exist

The day begins
has it?
already night
the stars squash me
with their colossal laughter
is it funny or cruel?
hopelessness is my cue
I’m a colonial boy
with imperial regrets
I have stepped onto cities
that once existed, oh history
I – is a word
the most engrossing word
for the conscious beast
I am impossible
and all the rest
I step onto a stone or an abyss
which?
is still undecided

 

Nihilistic Poetry

she is my pond

Entropy of Love
She is my pond
I drown
her innocuous waters
I drown
leagues infinite bottom
I drown
and never die
her waters are hands of mothers
her currents womblike sighs
I drown
songs that swim like free fish
my pond
the place where I dissolve
like a borderless ripple
she is my pond
where I drown
ineffably
in an entropy of love.

 

Modern Poetry

curved space

The black answer

The wind

brush

over my internal vacuity

my eyes

two stellar regions

by the naked dark

the atom in relation to all

my heart in proportion to nothing

the wind

many times

a close brush

with

          the imperishable

the blacker self

convoluting

within the wandering

poet.

 

Modern Poetry