domingo, 15 de noviembre de 2009

Of such paradoxes realities are made

By Danilo López

The first time, I brought her cigarettes
The next time I followed her in
A taxicab right to the door
I was trembling, she
Was expecting me

One third into the galaxy the joy of arriving
Supplanted the joy of departing
“If different universes exist” I conjecture
“It may well be that each has different sets of laws”
And we, a speck of sand in the immensity of
The Kosmos –physically speaking
Realized our enormity in the chain of evolution
From the Big Bang to the Big Crunch

And so it is that love is born out of a
A vast circle enclosing on me eighteen years
She was nineteen I twenty three
I had my way in a cheap motel
Her belly shaking with fear and desire
I being gentle and caring like an
Experiment on curiosity
Like a God toying his creature

Sub-atomic particles have no specific
Identity or agenda, they live in a netherworld
Of potential being
We, on the other hand, entrenched in our creation
A rational, structured, rigid matter-world
Have only our fingers to count
The light reached us on descent, still travelling

The universe is radiance and darkness
Light searches for us and we evade it in the shadows
In the fabric of spacetime the Big Bang happened
A few seconds ago
We still scramble in the lengthy night

In a complex system, a chaotic one, the variables
Have an attractor that pulls the system towards a
Certain state or behavior
There is a pattern
She and I formed a binary system
Twin stars orbiting around each other
A chaotic system of love with a thousand variables
And one attractor
Your life, our lives

"Like shinning arachnids with their
Webs and small clocks in the garden
Dangling on the air, sticky like
Precise caramels in fornication until
The game is complete
Too big, too smart to allow entrapment
Humidity falls and hangs there"
My perspiration caught in the attic of
An old house spider webs everywhere
And no excuse to move away from the sun:
A joke, a glass, a glow in the mountain
A word misspelled, erased and misspelled again

Happiness is a matter of courage, she told me
Sadness is a matter of weakness, I replied
Phantoms are irrelevant, we concluded
She and I, a still trepidation at the center of

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario