Archive | September, 2014

Getting out of my head

28 Sep

Bertha Rodríguez-Santos
A Clouds

Getting out of my head
Is not escaping from anything
It´s just being one
With the flying crows
It´s just being one
With the passing clouds
It´s just being one
With the silent rocks.

 The wind and Us

The wind and Us


Getting out of my head
Is not trying any method
It’s just going out

And embrace Mother Nature
It’s emerging from the rocks
And filling up my lungs
With pine and wild flowers’ essences
Today I got myself out of my head
And I was happy to see others laughing.

C about 2Fly

I know that I sound silly
But since rationality is
Causing that much suffering
With war and death
I prefer getting out of my head
And fly above the mountains.

My past is a rock, my future is now.

My past is a rock, my future is now.

Getting out of my head
Is not escaping from anything
It´s just being one
With the flying crows
It´s just being one
With the passing clouds
It´s just being one
With the silent rocks.

Emerging from a rock

Emerging from a rock

Getting out of my head
Is not trying any method
It’s just going out
And embrace Mother Nature
It’s emerging from the rocks
And filling up my lungs
With pine and wild flowers’ essences
Today I got myself out of my head
And I was happy to see others laughing.

This rock is also part of myself

WIND

13 Sep

Bertha Rodríguez (*)

"What kind of news do you have for us Mr. Wind?". Photo: science.nationalgeographic.com

“What kind of news do you have for us Mr. Wind?”. Photo: science.nationalgeographic.com

Before you became wind, you were that old singing river that everybody thought would always be there. You were a starfish witnessing the big fish eating the little ones. You were flying bullets piercing the heart of Anybody’s City, tearing pain as if everything was over. You were a dog with no owner pretending She cared for you. Your sweet mangos, hanging -plentiful- like an endless field of marigolds.

And when you were an ugly duckling, an unpolished diamond, a bank account with 0 balance, a misplaced comma -imperfections that made you real-, it took you a long journey to discover yourself as a beautiful swan, a precious stone that made your Special One happy, a symbol that would be placed on the right side, and any man could swear, “you’re gorgeous.”

But you were a character of a comedy, accused of not being feminine enough for doing things like a boy. You were a child cracking the night at the border. (They don’t know these are ways of surviving).

 Photo: childcarecenter.us


Photo: childcarecenter.us


You were a shy breeze drifting through the palm leaves, not knowing what to do with your power. You were the messenger. You were the window to the temple of colors and you were also the ancient healer of the Earth. You were a fierce, icy gust of wind, but also a warm and hot wave of existence. You were the dancing waves of the ocean. You were a traveling cloud. You were the breath of life. You were ideas and changes themselves. You were lightening and storms. Your wind’s destiny is to be free and to carry the knowledge and wisdom for humanity.

Before being spirit and imagination, you were a dream. You were that brief void in her mind in the mornings, that she just knew it was entirely hers.

(*) This piece started as an exercise as part of a free verse poem lesson, assigned by my English teacher Miss Drown and inspired by Sandra Cisneros’ Cloud.

Photo: fotocommunity.com

Photo: fotocommunity.com