” If I were , I would do many things”, At the beginning of the concert I started to feel a swirl of words of today’s events, circling around me : if I were … exposure, call, my son, your silences , Malta , the sea , the darkness of the train, the should , loneliness , sadness . The words wanted to form sentences but clashed with each other hurting me. All sentences started with : “and if I were I … “. And if I were, I have quickly forgotten my love to not suffer , and if I wer, I would have obeyed the call of the darkness of the railway , and if I were, I would changed my obligations and of others’ into desires, removing guilts and blames, if I were me … ..

And suddenly the words became colors ranging deep into me, while mixing, filling me . The darker ones hurted me , the others relaxed me , but as the fluid paintings were moving inside me, changing place .
Suddenly, everything stopped and I saw like a hung painting in a museum. The paintings postrated a woman sitting alone on the bench at a museum with white walls, music sounded background and behind her there were colorful letters with different phrases which stsrted with “and if I were in would… “. She had a book in hand, she looked sad because she thought that the writer never will hand his book, although on Saturday he would be just a few meters from her, and he neither thought salute her. Opposite her, she had a black track of underground, like an abyss that calls her by her name, but in front there were two cartels advertise with two children calling her mom, one worried about her, and the other with a background of sea, where a teenager sunbathing in a paradisiacal beach of Malta, was talking to his mother, so she thought how much would like her to be in this sea. And the pensive woman mixed the I should change, with the desire to remain the same state.
And the pensive woman mixed in her head the thoughts about “I should change”, with the desire to remain in the same state. And if someone deletes a part of the picture, the picture becomes unusable,alike if I through out the colors, words, my tears, my thoughts of it should… my dark thoughts, my follies of love or my questions. if I were me and you would out to me, or any of the colors that make me, the mixture would break and then, I no longer would be me.


“Si yo fuera yo, haría tantas cosas,
Al comenzar el concierto empecé a sentir un remolino de palabras de los hechos de hoy dando vueltas alrededor de mí: si yo fuera… exposición, la llamada, mi hijo ,tus silencios, Malta, el mar, la oscuridad del tren, los debería, la soledad, la tristeza.
Las palabras querían formar frases pero chocaban unas con otras haciéndome daño. Todas empezaban con: y si yo fuera yo…
Y si yo fuera yo olvidaba de un plumazo a Luis para no sufrir, y si no fuera yo hubiera obedecido a la llamada de la oscuridad de la vía del tren, y si yo fuera yo cambiaría mis obligaciones y las de los demás por deseos, quitando así culpas y culpables, si yo fuera yo …..
Y de pronto las palabras se convirtieron en colores que iban adentrándose en mi, a la vez que mezclándose, hasta llenarme. Los mas oscuros me hacían daño, otros me relajaban, pero como las pinturas fluidas iban moviendo dentro de mi y cambiando de lugar.
De pronto todo paró y como en un cuadro colgado en un museo, me vi. Era una mujer sola sentada en el banco de un museo con las paredes blancas, sonaba música de fondo, detrás de ella letras de colores con diferentes y si yo… tiene un libro en la mano, está triste, porqué piensa que el escritor nunca se lo dará en mano a pesar de que el sábado estará exactamente a 20 metros de ella, y ni la piensa saludar, delante de ella tiene una vía de metro, negro, como un abismo que la llama por su nombre, en frente 2 carteles de publicidad con dos niños llamando a su mama, uno preocupado por ella y el otro con un fondo de mar, donde una chica en una paradisíaca playa de Malta, hablando con su madre, ya que se acordó de cuanto le gusta el mar. Y la mujer pensativa mezclaba los debería cambiar con los deseos de seguir igual. Y como si borras una parte del cuadro, el cuadro se queda inservible, lo mismo yo no puedo sacar los colores, las palabras, mis llantos, mis debería, mis abismos, mis locuras de amor, ni las dudas sin para
Y si yo fuera yo y te sacara a ti, o alguno de los colores que me forman, la mezcla se rompería y entonces yo, ya no sería yo. 

By Espe.P
13/04/2016

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s