MAREADO

Aguas mansas dibujan el camino

     (extraviado,

         des-astrado)

que mis pies recorren,

bañados en su arena,

en su sal

en su propia liturgia de olas

                           

Y aunque no lo quiera,

mi mente registra, ordena, clasifica

por costumbre,

y en las cosas va poniendo

letras y paréntesis

números e índices,

mientras recibe el aroma,

    la mujer,

      la roca, 

        el perro que ahuyenta la gaviota

Y de repente, un clamor indecible

irrumpe por el muelle que mis pies caminan,

hecho de viento y espumas y...

(...pero no era indecible?)

… es un agua alta y bellísima

que me llueve encima,

que me encharca de sal y viento,

que me marea,

me desnuda de mi mente,

      y en su resaca se lleva

           todas mis letras y paréntesis

Sándalo Naranja

UM DIA DESTES (breathless poem)

Sabes, trago no meu peito este gosto por ti, por tudo aquilo que é teu, os meus olhos tão cheios dessa coisa tua, tão bonita, tão certa, e a tua beleza que parece querer ficar-me no olhar apenas, mas eu não deixo, não não não, eu quero toda essa beleza dentro de mim, a vibrar, a irradiar, a iluminar todo isto que sou por dentro, e por isso ando como louco a lembrar-me de ti, a memorizar-te, a procura do conforto de rever-te em cada pormenor, em todas as coisas pequenas, desde todos os ângulos e alturas, os cimos e os vales, as pradarias, as fontes, as chuvas, ando a assediar o tempo, a roubar-lhe a saúde, a descascar essa cortiça dura que ele usa para te manter tão longe, e por isso também ando a recitar as palavras que não disseste ainda, e a deixar que os teus silêncios belíssimos descarreguem sobre mim a sua chuvinha fina e fresca, e assim entretido nestas coisas, talvez a distância fique na verdade mais curta e um dia qualquer acabe por receber a notícia de que o inverno passou, que já estás cá, e podes tomar café amanhã...?

Sándalo Naranja

MY EYES ON YOURS

I'll take pleasure today 

in undoing your hair, 

holding your face between my hands, 

giving you my tenderest glance 

(it's a established fact 

               that my eyes want yours).

Sándalo Naranja

LA SOMBRA O LA VIDA (BREATHLESS PROSE # 7)

La sombra o la vida, mi señora, esto es un asalto, le advierto que no estoy yo para bromas, y si usted colabora nadie tiene que salir herido, oh señora mía, luz de donde el sol la toma, o por lo menos la solía tomar... yo le pido, le ruego, que me entregue su sombra, así por las buenas, sin resistir, le suplico, total si usted ya no la usa para nada, y piense que para mí tener la compañía de su sombra sería maravilloso, milady, dése usted cuenta de que en su sombra adivino yo todo aquello que amé en usted (y todavía amo, y siempre amaré), y que consiste precisamente en todo aquello que usted insistió en olvidar meticulosamente sobre usted misma, más tarde, cuando decidió prescindir violentamente de las cosas que deseaba, de las cosas que amaba, y así todas esas bellezas le fueron huyendo del alma y se almacenaron en su sombra, una sombra que usted arrastra por costumbre y porque qué va hacer con ella, pero yo creo que la odia en el fondo, ya ve, usted se pone a odiar precisamente aquello que yo más amo en el mundo ¿no es extraño?, una sombra lindísima y triste, tan triste y bella que, la verdad, viendolas juntas a ustedes dos bajo el sol de primavera, parecería más que es usted la que se arrastra pegada a la tierra y su sombra flota etérea sin llegar a tocar el suelo, o sea, resumiendo, algo así como si usted no fuese ni una sombra de lo que fue un dia, oh mi bella señora, y perdoneme la franqueza, pero en fin, divagaba, lo que quería decir es que usted ya ni se fija en su sombra y a veces hasta parece que ni se acuerda de ella, milady, y esa es la razón de este asalto, demela por favor, usted jamás la mira, ni piensa en ella, porque decidió así con esa vehemencia tan suya de usted no mirar nunca para atrás, así que una vez más le digo, démela sin más, no me obligue a robarsela a punta de pistola, lo que sería una escena fea e innecesaria, entienda de una vez que yo a su sombra de usted la quiero para que me ayude a  recordar, para permitir que sea la sombra la que proyecte todo lo que usted podría haber sido si hubiese querido serlo, así como la vida es proyectada desde nuestra propia luz y nuestro deseo y nuestra voluntad de imaginarla, así sea, no sé si me va entendiendo, señora que lo fue de mis sueños y de mis vigilias, que quede claro que yo a su sombra la quiero para abrazarla en mis noches turbias de pánicos domésticos, para los días sin sol, y para subir certas cuestas que se me hacen tan difíciles desde que usted decidió desaparecerse, prohibirse, exiliarse de sí misma, y dejarme con esta cara superlativa de idiota pensando, intentando conjurar cómo eran sus ojos, o la danza de sus manos, o la temperatura exacta de su voz, o ese desasosiego tan báltico de su corazón, o el arrebol que su rostro vestía al escuchar ciertas palabras mías, y bueno, por todo eso se me ocurrió depositar toda mi confianza en esta idea de que su sombra me traerá esas cosas de nuevo, de algún modo, así que permitame de una vez que le quite ese peso de encima, si hasta le estoy haciendo un favor,  si hasta va a acabar por agradecermelo, ande, dejeme bailar con su sombra, con su alma fugaz de estrellas y azules durante toda la eternidad, amén, he dicho.

Sándalo Naranja

SKETCH IN BLUE

Cuando la noche llega
un encanto me lleva:
la magia de tus ojos,
    de sus sueños azules

La poesía de tus ojos
nunca podré escribir,
y cada verso deberá morir
su triste muerte de luna de papel 

Igual seguiré esperando la llegada 
de esos pájaros de plata
en la madrugada exacta en que, 
como encantado, pueda sorprender 
tu mar infinito
     y todos sus azules

Sándalo Naranja

SEAWALK

A new place in time you are, shattering my compass card, erasing all the known coordenates, all route plans forever, forcing me to learn to navigate like an ancient seaman, with an eye on a map full of terra incognita signs and terrible ocean monters, and the other fixed on the stars above… 

...and believe me, I like it, and I will, as long as your eyes are willing to sooth me, to be my beacons, and your soul my promised land. This is coastal navigation, and I am one of those ships that cruise the horizon at night, like ghostly shadows in a procession of souls, each carrying his own oil lamp, both distant and near, well awake.

Today I came to the shore, the sun was a king above, and I admired the seagulls in their rampant fishing parties. I watched the land fishers preparing their shiny baits and being kissed by the brave waters. I walked the long pier like a pilgrim reaching his final church.

I looked back at the past and felt happily confused, as if nothing I have learnt so far was relevant when I walk along these sands, and this brand-new ignorance felt invigorating like a promise.

And while I was living all this life, I was silently praying to unknown gods to help me to reach you, to inspire me to fill your glass with the sweetest love. 

Please come to this lovely beach of mine, will you?

Sándalo Naranja

EDICT

I hereby declare [dramatic gesture]
your falling in disgrace, from now on,
disposessed of all the beauties
that once crowned your guilded head


(For, my dear lady, I'm sorry to say,
your characteristic radiance is long gone;
It does not reach my soul anymore,
and the once luminous wake of your steps
rests on a puddle of fading memories)


By virtue of this decree
I reclaim everything mine,
up to the last word and deed,
every intention or wish,
every thought and every detour.


(Up to the last syllable of every verse,
please do return it all)


I hereby decree that henceforth
you shall be disposessed as well of that proverbial brightness
I once bestowed upon you,

the white light, the blues,
the seemingly unending vibration,
the miracle-making power,
all that awe-inspiring beauty of yours

(hands that commanded my slow-mo stare,
eyes/lagoons that prompted me to merry swims:
all crushed by the weight of silence,
all dead)


You shall retur the songs as well,
all of them,
every turn of every melody, every upbeat
every sudden key change,
all the shared beauties, the sketches,
the landmarks,
the echo of your laughter flowing through me,
the midnight words, the shadows


(the motions that used to draw me
to the supernatural swing of a summer dress,
the sideways look and the curve of the lips
while you were fishing
for that always-ellusive english word)

(The list is endless, as you can see,
for no amount of verses could cover it all,
and I want it all back, all,
specially the unmensurable items,
the unsizeable stuff)


(Oh my,
but all this is oh-so-truly beyond measure..!)


Thus, I condemn you to a rigorous exile;
I decree you shall forever be banished
to that Sick Island of yours
where silence is all there is

And now that you have been
forever disposessed of the adorations
that once made your cheeks blush,
expatriated from the places
that were once our common soil
May I rest in peace, myself,
to befriend again the sunbeams
and fill my lungs with
the ever-luring promise of Spring

Sándalo Naranja

TEN PILGRIMS

So I write on your back, pretending these are thoughts of mine, but I will use no ink this time, not a drop, no no no, not even words, only playful fingers, just a bunch of thoughtful, brainy fingers, a dream team of ten bachelors, ten pagan pilgrims crossing the cathedral of your back, solemnly ascending through your vertebrae, pausing reverently by your shoulder blades, hungrily praying to reach your Reign, merrily grazing at your neck, partying gaily over your skin's velvet tapestry, drunkenly inhaling the soft odours of your stillness,

so I write on your back today a wordless, ageless tale which should suffice for you to grasp how immoderately in love I am with you, exactly when I find the sweetest sparkle of sweat running down from the cross to the valley, and I blow a gentle breeze to freeze the drop in time, and a half muffled moan is born on your throat, which I continue myself vibrating in sympathy, a purr à deux that makes us laugh and shiver like two birds, and my fingers walk out of the cathedral by noon, when everything is still, they contour slowly your hips, slide across the slim, adorable legs, and stop to play with your toes ancient, almost forgotten brotherhood games.

Sándalo Naranja

THE SCIENCE OF YOUR BEAUTY

Like a monk, chanting, my voice filling the library chambers, humming your incantations. My soul, rocked by the fireplace embers… Your eyes, my illuminations.

Tirelessly measuring the science of your beauties.

(Passionate observation, note-taking, calculations… sweetly obsessed devotion… unfatigable dreaming…)

The long-concealed secrets, at last revealed:

The final equations of your walking, the variables of your balance, your ankles' diminute rotation angles, your head’s exact tilt.

This monk is proud. In the library towers, over his workspace, he drifts into slumber.

Then, the twilight brings the day, allowing the lovers' souls to criss-cross again, by the first shades of the morning.

Sándalo Naranja

DEEP BELOW, FAR ABOVE

From the deep, I am taking relentlessly all my love to you. Think of it as waves.


Like a breeze I touch you, light and easy...

...And my memories expand like a universe. My finger connects the shiny dots, and I see the constellations. I name them, from my window.






In my soul, I keep them all.


The dots are the threads, the words, the dreams, the songs, the gestures, the moments. Each one, one star.

Know this, my morning star: without a compass, you might be my only north.

Sándalo Naranja

O MEU OLHAR DEMORADO (breathless poem)

Como seria bom se pudesse olhar para ti mais devagar, com a serenidade devida, se conseguirmos parar o tempo do olhar, também, e assim, fotograma a fotograma, pudesse eu registar com alguma precisão o voo das tuas mãos, o alvoroço das tuas pálpebras, a fina dança das costuras da tua roupa quando caminhas, enfim, e um outro mundo infindável de pormenores que detecto aos poucos e nunca consigo consignar devidamente, e talvez assim, em slow-mo, conseguisse eu ver onde é que o teu olhar se pousa exactamente quando falas dessas coisas tuas com esse meio sorriso de encantar... gostaria, enfim, de olhar para ti já sem uma réstia de vergonha nem boa educação, e com o máximo deleite, e que tu te achasses, plena de ti no meu olhar, e nele sentisses esse tocar vagaroso de que tanto te falo, aquele em que se misturam as aguas da ternura mais doce e do desejo mais aceso de ti, numa foz onde já não é mais possível separar as águas, e todo o olhar se revela carícia, finalmente e para sempre desenvergonhada, que te despe de palavras, de razões, de roupas, e atravessa o teu corpo (tão amado!) duma luz como um zénite sem sombras.

Sándalo Naranja

THE THOUSAND HOURS

There are one thousand hours in a day without you, yet just one minute of your eyes on me, just one minute of your light, shining on me, would be enough to undo the thousand hours, to revert all the thousand small deaths, only that light, I say, would be enough to freeze that deadly time, that muted distance, perhaps to unlock the eternal now and here, so I will sit here, expecting at any moment that light flooding through my window, washing down all my shadows, all my little deaths.

Sándalo Naranja