Author: Pablo Saborio

otherness

Otherness Modern Acrylic Art
I am drenched in words
like skin that covers my intellect
while sitting here
I do not feel like any word
neither floating nor sinking
in between two nondescript states
perhaps more
plucking my names
           human, animal, person, soul, pablo
petals – I exist or I exist not
an empty receptacle
in my hand
or a savory thought
or gone with the wind.

Nihilistic poetry

segunda oportunidad

espejos ebrios
Tres días después
de la noche
cuando dormí en mi vómito

Tres días después
de la noche
cuando casi borro
mi sonrisa por una mueca
cadavérica

Tres días después
de haber pisado el purgatorio
lleno de mis espejos ebrios

Tres días después
en cuenta regresiva
al día que todo esto
se vuelva a repetir

Tres días después
un hereje
sollozando en brazos
de segunda luz.

 

Poesía Moderna

incognito

my world eye

The world is my excuse
for existing
things, events, voices, phenomena
expand before me
like leaves from a budding green
new and virgin patterns
buried in the dot
under the nose of my own consumption
untouchable heavens as the purity of my soul
the small lesser ground
that I call:
myself
and my world.

 

Nihilistic Poetry

lights away from the field

It was in the disfigured arrangement of thoughts
that I found the elements of art
prompted by the vision
of aging cells reversing into nothingness
sparkles bones disappear
nothingness engraved in being
life feeding from that source
the beautiful ugliness of my thoughts
unfinished – poisoned
myriad of eyes, arms, despairs, trash
tending my lost confused body
on the stillness
of poetic
landscapes.

 

Nihilistic Poetry

un día gris

un dia gris

Hay un día gris
que me visita intermitentemente
entra en mi cuarto
con su decadencia petulante
cierra todas las ventanas
pone algodón en mis oídos
y me abraza como medusa de mar

 

aplastando mi corazón
como masa de pan
aprisiona mi pensamiento
como una densa noche sobre una indefensa vela
intoxicando mis movimientos
como una droga soporífica destilada del desconsuelo

 

me hundo en gota de resina
con dificultad inmerso mi mano
en el charco de mi poesía
ni para qué
estoy vacío sin contenido vital
son veinticuatro horas
dedicadas al olvido,
amante día gris.

 

 Poesía Nihilista

handful of visions

handless_man_painting_21st_century

This hand full of fire from banana field
sliding down your waistline sliding
touching like a hungry hermaphrodite
asking asking is there anyone down there
by the knee or the thigh or the swollen clit
sliding down with chords playing from rooftops
sliding down like a sunset high on trumpet
groping grabbing pinching scarring
this hand full of fire
reversing the course of utopia
this hand so strong irreversible
coming down on you
like freedom rain at 2am
this hand robbing you
taking away your last cents and songs
this hand aching for love that is not red
this hand losing one finger at a time
aging like the smoke at the end of tobacco curls
this hand empty
still touching and sad
this hand going down
holding your navel as burning bullet
this hand a tool
the tool
this hand
the last possession
a hand surface
sliding down to the earth
no contact yet
this baneful hand
raw, skinless
no glove
covering this
hand
no course handling
this hand
that came, saw and conquered
the mighty land

 

 

Modern Poetry