Poems : Jesús Hilario Tundidor

 

Poems of Jesús Hilario Tundidor

 

1. TO THE HEART

Behold, now i put it on my hand: hear it, justifies a life. Within of its volume fits despair and hope the rivers in darkness and the clear possession of the light. if i had it a few more moments I would burn his weight, his tenderness, his deep mystery. never before my eyes to such extension I had: here the premonition, there the shadows, in a long channel the joy, the happiness mortal and reviewed, and occupying its contour or distance the water always eager to surrender, the good love that never ends granted. Honda was his truth and is the ash of him. Bass its simplicity of form, in the field luminous of its sonorous night rests begins and ends the sad human dream.

2. TO A SPIDER

It could be an octopus and it is a spider. It could be pain and it is a weaver, companion of my life now in a sad room in Spain. It could be that it scratches that it scratches you reach the heart, not digger but merry spinner, bearer of a skein of strange gray gold. It could be that in the dark room of the heart, over old things, weave there its warp of bonanza, and light was made towards a future golden to peace, without shadows and without bars: Huge blue spider of hope!

3. THAT

Sometimes it occurs to me that I'm fed up, I can't take it anymore, and I open my life: a man standing, a boat castaway walks Sometimes I put my heart back into the air like a bit of water and a breeze. And everything already absolutely ¬- ash mind. There are nights that I am blinded by wine of God, of the God I seek every day.

Moreover, I have nothing and I believe in the lie, it happens in other nausea that I give birth, that I share my body in misfortune. And everything already absolutely ashes. Sometimes it occurs to me that I am sad: I touch my age, things, the wide life. And everything is absolutely ash-mind.

4. JULY PROFILE

You have a heart. You have an infected heart. Your heart is infected a heart full of hearts.

5. Opening poem

 

Here quietly I am going to tell you a word the last word where was your old heart... Here quietly: God was flesh then and you recreated it in your spirit. Oh kneel down you will not be a child twice. You have your infected heart full of loneliness. Full of heart your infected heart cries. You have a heart your heart, full of heart and loneliness. and you don't know that he is tired, that he is useless tired your heart full infected of loneliness And now it hurts, right now it hurts among so much dispossession, so much mask hirsute and slow voices and X And so the night goes time, water of death, water of life, the friendly circus. And there is a sweet laziness of love that tarnishes us outside the stars and the field sleep, alone, without light, without God, without clarity or noise. All was conjured. No one I knew when I entered he would be given a post, a riverbank where water and being will wither. And so the troupe passes as if oblivious, misunderstood, sad beholders were we. Shadows come, covers, figures of false gold and old paper, bars, trapezes, trampolines, tracks, and the sweet music of the roar of man... All for a last purpose, that nobody knows. cheerful, loud in the fraternity, cashed the coin, funny of so much love and  in in masse, in bando, in emotion unique and simple, we give humbly strangers, when the rooster calls us, I end by contemplating, and the circus ceases.

 

With affection,

Ruben