Author: Pablo Saborio

the abstraction of hope

Spring Poetry Blog

clasped as a bud
within its own
infant leaves

suddenly we remember
we’ve never been
within the stripes
of time

how many grains
of sand fit
within a hollow thought

the pure shadow
of her eyes
sways like
a song I
heard inside a
crystal

a single forest
grows from the
myriad chimes
of fate

I sleep
under its concave
leaves
awaiting
for the worms
to crawl into
my dreams

suddenly you remember

we’ve been immersed
within immense
sorrow

and you let
the sweat become
dew
clutched to the
skin of
a new day.

Nihilistic Poetry

a day in april

motion poetry

The standstill motion
of the substance
around us

in a flicker
the wood is a infant body
laying on the arm
of a ray of sun

the hourglass has
a plan to move
the shadows

the incense is dead
reeking like a
flame of pus

the instant sails
through all the events
carried by the wind of memory

with a transparent dress
a ghostly rain
is expected to sweep
up the remains
the fragments

in an untitled and random quest

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

escribí estas líneas para olvidarme

Levito en este rayo de sol
como punto minúsculo
blanco de alma
no viviré más allá de esta levedad – me digo,
y en la punta verde de una hoja
de primavera dejo colgando el mito del alma
para vivir aun más liviano en este cuerpo de suspiro;
la verdad amarilla desciende hacia la ventana
rozando mis vellos con esa pasta de luz;
suelo pensar en los vacíos del desierto,
en el amanecer, cuando las horas y las arenas
se muerden unas a otras
y una sola estrella queda en el cielo
para ser devorada por un escarabajo
que deja sus pequeñas huellas
como estelas en las dunas
de mi eco.

PoesíA nIHILISTa

minute details

Life will destroy you
and there won’t be any more words
to describe our love for
that which never came
into existence

imagine a bud
leaves in slow bloom
ages upon minutes
minutiae upon epochs
for a product
that never is finished
but goes on
from seed to form
back to dust and roam

life is strange
with surges of anxiety
I contemplate
its rather statuesque secrets

there will be no more words
or feelings or understanding
when the cerulean mouth of death
takes us in its mouth
under its pulpy tongue
and down the
infinite hole
of silence

 

 

i

I’m tired
of the heights –
of all the philosophies
of stars
of all the cosmologies
of tears

my bed now
is the corner
of a passing second
I let the rain in
to drown
all the intelligent answers

I want to be
as ordinary
as a crumb of bread
on your sleeve
or as the mustache
that is shaven every day

I’m tired
of all the pompous
universes that we dream
and of the fantasy and sorcery
of constellated thoughts

my mission
now
is to dissolve as
bits of soup
in the drain
or
broken fingernails
in the dirt

the whirlpool of wisdom
comes to a halt
and I am
as cold and tame
as a shadow
lying
under a streetlamp
every minute
of every night.

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry

flor que nunca

Será negro recuerdo
o un sabor a lago
que oculta
la nostalgia
en su obra de silencio

cuando los ojos
caen sobre la naturaleza
de una vela
estudiando su movimiento
inútil e irresistible

serán los anaranjados
de una flor que nunca
hemos visto
será un sol en el alma
que nunca amanece

paso sentado
horas
con medio vaso
de agua tibia
oliendo la cortina
de la nostalgia

sin nunca percibir
su aroma
secreto entre
todo este
polvo de vida

 

PoesíA NIHILISTa

un pelo

poesia nihilista

En un pelo
no hay historia
ni terreno

es un mundo sin
nombre
una vida sin
nacer

un pelo no tiene
que recordar
ni errar
muere con la paz
de haber existido
apenas

ahí no hay pena
ni miedo
el pelo cae al
suelo y nadie
nadie lo recoge

es libre y santo
sin hacer nada
duerme y canta
en su propio colocho

en un pelo
no hay derrotas
ni victorias

es ser pelo
ni más
ni menos

 

 

PoesíA NIHILISTa

none to fuck you you fuck you fucked youth

I have swallowed
all the colors of hope
and in my thirst
I still despair
like a black figure
set against the white emptiness

I’ve peeled off
the last sounds
from the mirror of music
still to be deaf
in the dead opaque dawn

while all the textures
and elements of the planet
offer me a cocoon
of velvet sensation
like a colorless rag

I still fall towards the night
of crude silence

I have thought out
all the possibilities
but the environment
of the heart is
still raw and incomprehensible

so touch the lips
of rain
or draw the
direction of
love

I owe none
I owe none.