ROMA SEVILLA 2010. THE BOLT
is endless cold or rain. By losing, I lost even hope. You went at the beginning of spring, like a comet in the sky. And after your flight and his last trip in August, I have nothing left to fight for, nothing to die.
Without course, rooted in boredom and monotony in general, wandering bewildered through streets that once were ours, they hurt the eyes to look without seeing.
And no, you were not already, madness!.
Fado, you went down the river, you went out in the shade. Looking
forget other aromas where yours came Easter.
Passion Week.
And again, as in the previous eleven years, The Student, took to the streets of Madrid.
I was looking for you you for Branches and to meet with him, I asked him to open the sky, my friend lives there.
Two absences, early, recent, unbearable, not solved.
station penance, less painful, the most beautiful of those years are remembered, the most spiritually rewarding of all, by the memory of lived experience, the pride of being mine someday.
But the previous two souls are fired without knowing if they would ever see.
The student, filled with faith and hope in the bosom of the devastated future.
Fe, filled me with faith, but hope was leaking like water from a tap (which try to stop with the palm of the hand) between the toes.
had no reason to hope!, Inhabit a world full of memories, longings, what could have been but was not, wanting to be when it's too late, or dream that one day come back and you realize, or the impossible hope that you embrace friend to comfort me ... They are not reasons to garner hope, rather the loneliness, my anxiety, my personal ordeal.
So I decided to sublimate, crawl down to the lowest range of human desperation, I turned around to the soul to step on it, pour out my heart with tears ... So I walked in Seville morning of Holy Thursday.
Drink oil to spit fire, burning the stubble to green back to matins Easter's spiritual springtime.
Silence, I did see that the worst thing in life is silence.
The Nazarene Lord of Seville, awash in darkness, shivering in the light of their candles, crushed me with their beauty cold, with the faith that clings to the tree which is death, but at third day he will rise to victory, as the Giralda towards walking and left at dawn, the divine and the mundane, the ephemeral and the eternal.
The Lord of Health "The Gypsies", walked to a full death and hope, music, lively gait and rises to heaven. And yes, here I realized that like him, sometimes walking death is the only way to be reborn.
realized where my place, and who I was, to see enfilar Placentienes street to the sound of the arrow of Machado.
have to die, I thought. I'm already dead!, I made it more difficult. - Now after seeing the Nazarenes, I have an empty breast and a new and virgin soul!.
And my steps were directed towards Triana.
I saw them arrive, filled with light, white blossom, as a reflection of the sun in the morning.
La Macarena, bullfighting virgin gave birth to me which follow. And the Triana deflowered my new soul, a gift from her son. Making me feel full, returned to life ... Because even now you are, you have been. And as their names are Hope, I returned to Madrid ready to germinate and flourish.
They know only what my sun and my water which I then sprout again.
But there's a hot sun to me, your sun friend. There will always be a source Mane water, which may not have forgotten my lips and want to re-liquefy my blood. Or just remember me as your best alchemist.
I do not know who released the heat, but I see the light comes to search.
Hope To live, as I now dwell, it is sick, where, but died in Seville.
sprouts.
Moruno José Luis Vázquez
TRIANA HOPE IN THE BRIDGE. 2010
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