THEE ANCHOR BABIES

"Elogio de la mujer interna" – Gioconda Belli

"Hay una mujer en mí que se asoma a veces
a través de mis ojos,
que me dicta palabras que no conozco,
que conoce senderos por los que nunca he caminado."

Hay momentos en los que tengo que recordar que apenas nacía cuando ya me declaraba la guerra.
Cuando vienen a mi todos esos escenarios manipulados, maldecidos, entiendo por que tantas veces aposté por ellos.
Hilar mis rescates ha sido, en ocasiones, mas tormentoso que temer que nunca llegarían.
No me olvido del reflejo de la vergüenza, ni de su rendición ante la falta.
La esperanza que tengo en el futuro nació de volverme resistencia ante todas mis condenas internas.
Hoy dejo que el amor me desborde, y cuando llega a sentirse una farsa, como pasa a veces con la vida misma, me repito, casi sin aire pero con firmeza, que no importa tanto creer merecer algo, sino abrazarlo hasta algún dia creerlo.
-e.v.
@theonlyrevolveryyouneed

The Road Not Taken
BY ROBERT FROST
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats

Querido Mar, a veces es raro el sentimiento de querer desaparecer; que nadie sepa de ti por un tiempo. Porque para mí ese sentimiento viene del sentir que he rogado por atención, y digo que es raro porque creo que el peor castigo que uno se puede hacer a sí mismo es alejarse de la gente.

-Isabel Leal