Wish I

As I read the words on the screen, and heard them to the beat
Wish I'd seen you the moment they were conceived.
And the songs never grow old, and the stories can always be told
Wish I'd seen the things you see.
Pen and paper hold you true, and show the world your mind in truth
Wish I'd express the things I feel.

I sit here writing what hopefully will be an homage
since you sing, write and talk to me about your life
and every word seems to compel me,
as every sentence unravels feelings in me,
and every paragraph sends me away from the things I run from.

I hear about women that shimmer like the California sun.
About the ones that mystify the simple things, and cover us with poetry.
About little girls that traditions have them in a strangle hold.
About the friends that we lost. And the ones we gain.

The ground is fertile with hope for newer generations,
as others come and tell their stories, i sit, listen and wonder...
Why can't I sum up the courage and discipline?
What is it that prevents me from letting the words flow,
let the images paint themselves in a canvas...

I speak of nothing happy, nothing amusing.
I sing of things off-key, that really don't impress anyone.

I don't feel like competing,
my life is not that interesting
I have no voice to sing or speak.
No stories to tell,
but when I hear and read your words,
I forget that I can't do it,
what the world says I don't and can't,
and I sing, I draw, I write.
You help me come to this,
This is why I've shown you this.

Ventana

Me siento en este cuarto,
viendo al mundo por la ventana,
escribiendo cosas al aire.
Se oye en el fondo algo animado,
mas no se ve nada.

Si fuese por mi, todo cesara
no soy yo quien controla esto.
Mi ventana brilla con todo tipo de cosas,
Cosas que llegan, me arropan, me abrazan.
Cosas que matan.

En el fondo... En el fondo no se que hago aqui.
Parece que estoy perdido.
Fuera de donde estoy,
se oye todavia ese murmullo.
De nuevo salgo, y no hay nada.

Me muevo: camino, corro y salto.
Pero nada pasa...

Me traiciona mi razon?
Me traicionan ya otras cosas.
En qué confió?
Ya el murmullo se va poco a poco.
Si regresa, bien; pero ya me canse.

Mi ventana brilla de nuevo,
las palabras me ahorcan, casi ni respiro.
No puedo salir ya. Me veo atascado,
se siente la arena movedisa
la tierra tragandome. No grito, me quedo inmutable.

Quizas sea mejor asi...