sábado, 22 de noviembre de 2008

Living on our own


The night is nearly over. The new morning is up to shine in my life, bringing a warm light to my face. My eyes are closed. I don´t want to open then until the new day begin. Life sometimes hurts me. Not today. Really it does not.

Today you´re with me. Sharing smiles, future plans. After tomorrow will be more complete: will be three.

The hard weight I carry on, is going to disappear.

Love you both, children.

sábado, 15 de noviembre de 2008

Memories...



Fue pasión. Fui yo: 100 por cien yo. Y tú.

Desnudaste mi alma y me cosiste alas. 

Me elevé como Ícaro hacia el sol...

Todo se oscureció en mi caída.

¿Qué nos deja el amor cuando sólo podemos sentir un tremendo hueco de vacío en el alma?

La noche se acaba, y un nuevo mañana volverá a amanecer.


I am waiting for the daylight.

_______________________

Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan

Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
Life was beautiful then
I remember
The time I knew what happiness was
Let the mem'ry live again

Every street lamp
Seems to beat
A fatalistic warning
Someone mutters
And a street lamp gutters
And soon it will be morning

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new life will begin

Burnt out ends of smokey days
The stale cold smell of morning
The street lamp dies
Another night is over
Another day is dawning

Touch me
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with my memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me 
You'll understand what happiness is
Look a new day has begun.
______________________

Sarah Brightman: Memory (Cats)

miércoles, 12 de noviembre de 2008

Just so


Why do we keep on living when Life hurts us? 

sábado, 8 de noviembre de 2008

Smelling out

¿A qué huele la vida?
A veces es dulce y nos huele a azucar. Otras es triste y nos huele a sal.
A veces es una historia que nunca se ha contado, y huele a papel viejo, o a papel mojado.
A veces es un milagro, porque es vida, y huele a bebé.
A veces es sonrisa, y es alegre, y huele a niño.
A veces es amor, y caricias, y huele a tu piel.