TRIBUNAL OF WAR

Love was captured at war! It was seized when It was burying the head of a boy who died in the last bomb raid. Since its message had not been received and its sound had been overwhelmed by the cannons, Love had decided to engage to the battle field, and actively participated in combats. Both sides had been looking each other for a long time already, because It had been declared their enemy, and due to the fact that its participation had caused considerable damage to both sides. Taken as prisoner, it was judged by a tribunal integrated by officers of both armies. It was requested to tell the truth, and requested about its nationality, there was no answer. Requested about its age, there was no answer either. Its silence onfirmed it was not innocent. It was accused to be a spy to both sides, and It confirmed to have counted, as a spy, a million deaths. It was accused of hoisting both nations' flags, and It confirmed to have hoisted the flag of Peace. Shouts and more shouts, and It was accused of so many other crimes: disassemble mines, rebuild bridges, set fire on napalm warehouses, encourage desertion of battalions of both armies; besides It admitted assaults to general warehouses and distributed their contents among civilians. Moreover, It accused to weapon manufacturers of speculation with troops' lives. It accused to certain merchants to use nations' armies to support trademarks. Judges were irritated by its insolence and It was requested to reveal its secret.

It confirmed that its profession was to go against war. Then, It was condemned and executed in neutral field. Its remains, abandoned in the field, were collected at night and honored by warriors' children and wives, meanwhile, in the sky, stars burst as grenades.

X

It makes no sense to establish there is no Poetry in math.
Science of the amounts.
Because even its rigid has a tendon
of sensibility.

Brotherhood of blind beggars.
Knot.
A hug of trees with no other way to hug each other
but to go across each one.
Old time staggering lovers
who support each other.
Shipwrecked people about to surrender with the last wave.
Multiplication sign!

Marriage.
Actual and indivisible love
that lives in order to have a peaceful existence,
to help each other,
to procreate.
Multiplication sign!

PROPRIETARY LOVE

This is not the introvert, subversive love of that time,
underground, paganish love that alloved writing its sign only deep inside.

Today . . .a victorius centrifugal love,
monopolizing: proprietary Love,
that atracts your attention by signing flags from this side of the river.
Leader of your body, captain of your skin.
Leading Love.

Thundering love, I stand at the window of the boulevard
and loudly proclaim that I love you.

It is so immense. . .that it has its own geography.
It compass, poles, a volcano and even its very own star.
Sometimes I misplace its maps and plans,
and then off I to search for this love:
archeologist of my own memoirs.

Hardworking love,
with its urban sun
and its sand clock.
Relaxed country love
of hammocks, guitars and poems

Mahtematical love
of barely two signs, to love you + and +

And x our lineage.
Love with its very own codes,
strategy, mechanics, logic
and sorrow.

MOTHER

I was afraid of her all he time and every time.
Downtown Guayaquil received her steps and
she used to walk as proud as a peacock
because of her huge belly. To any person
who saw her, at first sight, she was just
another pregnant woman. However, in our
opinion, since we knew her for many years,
she was an insane woman. Her insanity, her
jjust desire of having a baby. Her sterility was
the cause for her insane state of mind. – It was
an awesome insanity. By the way, she
walked with the spirit of pregnant woman,
but with such impetuosity that her fiction was
obvious. –Besides, she was so captive of her
own aberration that because of her outstanding
proud she wanted to spid on people’s faces.
She stopped, abruptly. and started singing a
lullaby. It has been a while since I saw her for
the last time. After death, where would the
souls of insane people go? Would their spirits
remain insane? God has mercy on their souls,
and, when she dies, let her have the company
of the imaginary child that she carries on her
mind.

SECRET KISS

It is so easy the instinctive kiss
that touches your perfect organs.
However. . . my favorite kiss
is the reflexive kiss
which allows me to adore you because of
the common, even the hostile and the imperfect:
the toe finger of your foot,
your nails and your hair.
Sometimes I would like to have the chance to unfold you
and so to kiss you inside!

PALM

Cosmopolitan palm.
Proud on the beach; slender in the swamp,
cocky in the prision of a flowerpot.

Forest of outgoing palms.
Solitude of hermit palms

Frugal palm.
Your waist is made of a sun, wind and water diet.
You have the vocation of a nun
and sleepless wait to conform the shipwrecked persons.

Ornamental palm of the urban avenue.
Real palm. It is your tuft
a 12 points green star.
Palm,
your fruit is a fist of red,
white, orange flowers.
Warrior plants. Chonta.
From your wardrobe I take spears,
to defend the pureness of the wind
and attack the corruption of the water.

Hospitality palm.
Juggler, from your sleeve a stick,
a hat, a mat, a basket come out.
From your storeroom I take the vegetal egg of the fig.
From your sewing box I want Tagua buttons.

I am the refractory monk knelt before the landscape,
which has the stars for bells.
(In the rustic mug of a coconut
I receive the host of your pure flesh
and I present the briny liquor of your sunny cellar).

Palm
from your awesome nut I will take out the fragant soap
that washes the blood drop that I carry on my lapel.

RED POEM

I do not want to begin. . .
Because I know if I touch you. I will love you forever.

I know this caress, that beats in my hand.
Could be mortal;
since it is forbidden to us.

This passion lives in solitude and feeds itself in the shadow.
It is an invisible river, which does not reveal itself, therefore
it flows into itself.

However, sometimes, this passion is haughty
and wants to reveal,
though it could seem in pain and bleeding
in its desire to strangle and
vanish imperceptibly.

I cannot surrender
this love is such a burden in my veins it inundates my mind.
As it is reciprocated, knowing that fact,
it grows bigger, greater, fortified.

It suddenly blossomed in the crevices of my watchtower,
in my scarves.
My life is its nourishment.

A swirl of anguish drags us into its center,
and I do not want to know where it is leading us.

I cannot give up. . . I am getting closer to you.

If I do not tell you now, one of these days, on any given day
I will tell you in front of those who should not be listening to us;
I will walk mumbling, I will call your name again and again;
and I will answer with your name to any given question.

I will discover intact emotions in your skin
and you will shake with new splendors.

Because for me, you are still a virgin.

I will be the sinner. . .,
and in my sorrow,
from the beach of my island, in the red planet,
my soul will talk to you with fire signs.

BUNCHES

Every morning the outskirts listened the proclaim of the fruit...
The bare-foot girl was pushing her golden cargo,
and it was the victorious march of her small cart.
"¡Casera! ¡Casera! ¡Caserita!"
The boys, the girls surrounded the small cart...
The bare-foot shoe shine boy, and all the little children
heroes in the resistance to the hunger, to the epidemic, to the fatigue.

Punctual presence
to the morning party;
flapping of mutilated
angels, without a chapel;
bare-foot little ladies,
searchers of sugar.
"¡Casera! ¡Caserita!"

The best bunch was not for sale:
the small cart girl gave it
in the box of her clean hands.

Then she went further into the city,
and corners measured her working day.

In the distance, the yellow and shining fruit
the small cart seemed like a lamp
in the hands of a guide girl.
"¡Casera! ¡Casera! ¡Caserita!"

During a working day, in her civic fight,
the small cart girl passed away,
everybody took her white coffin
to the cemetery in a knot of arms.

The graveyard looked like a stone flower vase;
the word injustice
was written, with school chalk, in a wall.

Holding their hands the children left
in a tight and quiet procession,
experiencing their sorrow.
The poor children, broken,
in the common denominator of poverty,
would push the small cart from now on.

The brotherhood have learned the lesson of the fruit:
the plant's outstanding renovation and slenderness,
-relief for holding the torch of the fruit-
the intimate and vigorous unity of the Bunch.
------------------
Note: "Casera":is the buyer. "caserita" corresponds to its diminutive. Both
terms refer to the people who usually purchase in the small cart.

ATOMIC LOVE

I am a particular member of a new cult
that proclaims love as a multitudinaire holocaust.

Life is a tiresome beauty contest. A contest of resistance.
A visual orgy.

A crowd of women gets undressed in magazines
and they have turned the library into a gynaeceum.

At the movies, in the bar, the crowd experiences a simultaneous
and mental intercourse with the actress.

We must stand the cruelty of such inaccessible beauty.
Exhausted by the frenzy of an always voracious hunger.
Permanently exacerbated, up to the delirium.

On the television, the propaganda is always playing an exotic card of
prodigious women.

The vehicle takes us swiftly to the nudist beach.
The radio broadcasts the joyful morn of the orgasm.
Jubilee hips loosen up through the sounds of a record.

On the plane and in the train, tourists, on the ships,
We saw without knowing the ones who could make us happy.
But our itineraries hit as irreconcilable swords.
Dozens of millions of splendid beings
cross, pass by, but we cannot understand each other.
Our obsolete and ideal love may have been among them.

We are indefatigable seeding beings condemned
to sow and banish.
We will never see the fields bloom
because the crowd pushes us into new ones.
In any women I unload, as any thorough stevedore,
the unbearable burden of my incommensurable desire.

This is not the time of the singular love,
of the innocent and wise love that believes to be endless and unique.
The human being has been multiplied, stunned, ravished,
by too many alternatives

This is the century of the tumultuous love.
of the giddy love.
Our era has produced an avalanche of portentous,
beautiful, efficient, honest, competent, kind human beings.
Everyone is a good fellow.
This is the era of the multitudinary love,
of the massive love.
Of the apocalyptic love
atomic love! Explosive, expansive, devastating, irresponsible love.
Inexcusable love if this not illuminate the frightened night of our solitude.