corrector de estilo Cuauthémoc Molina Monroy
El insensato le cortó el cuerpo pa… las púas le clavaron sus dardos el corazón lloró... estalló en cenizas las cenizan le ahogaron
Soplas en mi boca y mi vientre despliega sus alas; me arrastran y me zarandean, cabalgan mi columna. Y me llega mi voz de la profundid…
I swallow the universe by mouthful… it’s an abundance of beauty, fragr… Spring blooms my heart and warms m… the sun embraces the cold; consumes its dampness.
Today I transcend my physical ale… long after I will be filigree psal… etched in my brilliant evolutionar…
Mis versos se aferran a su oceano… son los lirios de agua que se afer… Azul fiusha de plata es el oleaje… pero una sombra se arrastra por de… haciendo ocho figuras
Maintenant le froid me pique au vi… ankylose ma jambe..., la douleur agonise dans mon émotio… je me recueille. Très lentement la sensation s’esto…
El viento helado ha mordido MI ca… se ha llevado mi paraguas; la lluvia me moja hasta los huesos y dificulta mi visión. Aulla el viento
Ton regard crèpite et flambe, tu trônes dans l’azur comme un cyg… dont la toison de neige balaie l’h… il contient dans ses yeux le crépu… L’amphore de ta bouche parsème ses…
I Died For Beauty I died for beauty, but was scarce Adjusted in the tomb, When one who died for truth was la… In an adjoining room.
Do not stand at my grave and forev… I am not there; I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain…
To see a World in a Grain of San… And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your… And Eternity in an hour. A Robin Redbreast in a Cage
The supplications of the accused d… the hammer cried and overturned th…
MINT AND PINES You move me voice of my Sephardi… with its pastoral ballad, the kanun spreads its chords in th… My way smell of mint and pine,
When you are old and grey and full… And nodding by the fire, take down… And slowly read, and dream of the… Your eyes had once, and of their s… How many loved your moments of gla…
Heavy clouds cloak the evening, twigs squeak under my feet; it grasp the concrete its faint scent of bois de rose lingers in the footpath.