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ROSES OF WINTER


PAGINA EN BLANCO


ROSES OF WINTER


PAGINA EN BLANCO


ROSES OF WINTER fernando marín


GRATEFULNESS My gratefulness to all the people that have made possible this publication and to all the people that, through the social nets, you have impelled me to publish this book. Thank you Jaime, to have it so clear; to tí Alex, because a brother tolerates everything; to tí Rosa, for your infinite patience; to tí David, because you demonstrate us that there is always time for everything; to Carolina for his zeal; to Salvador for his enriching comments; to my friends Antonio and Mary for his loyalty; to María, Mónica, Elena and Raquel for his effort and undeserved dedication; to my partners and trip partners: Avelino, David, Jorge, Fernando and Paco for their trust; to my dear friend and professor Rich Francisco Pérez for their docencia; to Félix Alberto "Cholo", of who point learned; to my friend Javier Ruiz Taboada, an artist with uppercase; to always remembered and friends Roberto Juaroz and Mario Benedetti. To my dear Dámaso Alonso, Vicente Aleixandre and Gonzálo Torrent Ballester that guided me in my reading and composition of the poetry from small; to my admired Esperanza Aguirre, united in the poetry, to my friend Nacho González, for their impulse to the culture; to my patient Teresa and Elías for their treatment and their affection; to my parents and siblings, the Family and all who you are in my memory although this book arrives late.

1ª edition: October of 2010 © Fernando Marín Rodríguez fmarin@proyne.com Legal Deposit: M-45220-2010 Form in Spain

© Editorial PROYNE S.L. C/ Nogal , 9, Local 1 28110 Algete (Madrid)


To my first teacher: my mother To my first friend: my father

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PAGINA EN BLANCO


POEM OF THE MYSTERY As it is the perfume beyond a rose she has stayed your name beyond your absence. And although you don't say anything, cavalier and proud, your heart doesn't remain silent what your voice silences. For that reason, in the one that to make of these sentences in prose with which to be able to tell you how much I love you a poem in a mysterious way has been born, as a rose she is born, when it is still January.

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PAGINA EN BLANCO


WINTER ROSES

"I don't proclaim loves that they go with me; the song like hardships when they have left. You will see still lagoon, today cloudy river, that other banks take a bath your ravings." Felix Alberto Aguirre

11


WHEN FAR I NOTICE YOU When far I notice you; unreachable. When I sit down you part of my wound. When the past, tomorrow she doesn't forget. When my love to you is hopeless. When it is your impenetrable heart. When I surrender everything; without measure. When I am for tĂ­ lost soul. When your hate toward my it is irreproachable. When all that happened have cried. When you have kissed lips of another mouth. When I sit down in short; saddened. When your heart is mistaken. When you are shared feeling. When this history of full plays us.

12


ETERNAL LOVE You can close the eyes, obliging, and to know that there won't be more stars with woman's name because looking for the light of the firmament at night now I sleep calm, gentle and I please. Now that have discovered that sometimes in dimness a flame of love almost all it lights it. You can close the eyes and I will dream of you. Me that I dream awake, but I don't tell it to you, to be to alone with that traveling soul knowing that, patient, every night she waits for me in a frugal encounter of silence nocturne to sleep with me a taciturn dream. You can close the eyes, knowing obliging that this love is eternal, infinite and patient. And if at all another star illuminates your night, I will close your eyes and without any reproach I will kiss your desire in slip form only thinking: She "wanted to be happy."

13


POEM OF THE BANK Looking for your road I have remembered mine, because we are two banks, but of oneself river. And maybe, we won't be able to unite our ends although we know both that both love each other. Well, when it passes the water, for your life and mine, my lips are thirsty of your lips that desires. And this bed that she will never stop to run, she teaches us the future forgetting the past. Maybe for that reason, I want to cross to the other side knowing that when making it I forget the past. well, we are two banks, love, of oneself river And the water that unites them is your love and it is mine.

14


POEM OF THE SHARED SOUL For Elena, shared soul It was the happiness of loving; only that. With the fair measure: neither little, neither in excess. And in the frugal routine of the infatuation to manage which rose that ravels the wind because in the golden years of so much racket, neither it was everything sadness; neither everything was happiness. And the perfume that then perpetuated the rosebush constant she reminds us that the world is earthly. Obliging, now I notice that it is maybe written already, with indelible rubric, an inďŹ nite love. And in the nuptial verse of your oath both professed yourselves, beyond the moment, to continue dying, maybe, what is of life resuscitating the soul after having shared.

15


WHERE ANOTHER LOVE BEGINS I can fake that I sit down pain in front of your absence and to hide, somehow, all my indierence. I can tell you, maybe that won't be able to forget and never kissing other lips more to remember. I can show my eyes so full with sadness... and to think that you ďŹ nish where another love begins. Or maybe, simply, she can die with you something more than my love; something more than a friend.

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POEM OF THE SIN It is only the silence dressed in this stay where two bodies still sleep nudes. A cruel battle of the sexologĂ­a. combatted and conquered with perspiration and perseverance. It is only the scent of the skin; their fragrance all it impregnates it now, because all it desires it penetrating in their body with vulgar audacity once and another time. with severe arrogance. It is only the love. Only love in their hands. And nudes are felt. And they are so human... That it is impossible, God, to punish the moment. And You that were Man, will know about this lament to covet a forbidden and wanted body. Let us leave them to be enjoying the sin!

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WHAT YOU WOULD GIVE Your eyes have told it to me when contemplating you after lapsed so much time, when the memory ďŹ nishes in forgetfulness: What you would give to return me to love you. You that I have a part in your heart; that you will never forget that I have loved you, that it was so beautiful what we have lived... What you would give to return me to love you. My eyes have told it to you when contemplating you that fuistes and you will always be my lover and scatterbrained illusion; my rampart, in spite of the fact that our love ďŹ nished in anything and discover secret in your look what you would give to return me to love you.

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IN HER I will die that day in that my name forgets, inaccessible love that I cannot hide and although my heart another woman divides, in her so many times I achieve you to remember. I will die that day that perhaps for negligence, you no longer greet me when you see me happen; and although my heart is divided, in her so many times I achieve you to remember. I will die that day that you don't miss fair when the night she invites you to rest; although nobody knows it: that you and I love each other and in her so many times I achieve you to remember.

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POEM OF THE AGE ... And I will continue thinking that you should be my; that I loved you forever; it stops a lifetime. The years they will paint wrinkles in your mirror and I will go every day making me older. And maybe, with the time, we will be, but it will already be late to recognize us. You will pass of the arm of another gentleman, and when seeing us both will look at ourselves, but without greeting us. Or perhaps your children, or the grandsons accompany you... that they owed one day to have been ours. And then you remind me, going by your side, without knowing that I am in who you are thinking. It will be more one afternoon in the monotony of going for a walk to alone, with the boredom. Slowly you will already leave my thought and I will have left, then, of writing poetry.

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POEM OF THE BLAME From tonight anything is the same thing again. You will no longer speak of love. Prepared in your pillow you will silence your voice, your hearings. And anything it will avoid you to go right toward the abyss. And me that am same Adam today that tomorrow. I don't bite your juicy apple again. From tonight anything is same again and there will no longer be a "us" for this ďŹ rmament of solitary stars, without infatuation. I have understood now that everything is earthly. Also your love of Eva, as carnal as human that she makes impossible to love what is not near. From tonight. anything, anything, anything pursues because I have lost everything. Also this illusion of making possible a dream, a resurrection. because dying me, you will die with me. And. God, if You are exactly, don't doubt to condemn me because the blame is mine. She didn't want to love me.

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SAD WEDNESDAY Forgive me, God, if to love her didn't should; they are so sweet their lips and I sit down it so mine... It is so good, God, so beautiful, so beautiful, that it is impossible not to fall in love with her. Sometimes so simple and others are so smiling, that it is an impossible dream; less when one dreams. Forgive me, God, if I didn't know how to avoid it; to give up their mouth costs so much to accept it... That without knowing it you grieve, my soul has been surrendered; he doesn't have her the blame, neither me, of that happened. It is so pleasing and so pretty, God, You that made it, that it transforms into Sunday this sad Wednesday. Good, it is so beautiful, it is so sweet and so beautiful, that there is not bigger sin that not to surrender to her.

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AS I TAKE TO YOU As body without soul that she ages. As beach without sea and without sand. As Paris without the waters of the Sign. As a boy that alone he is sad. As a bitter sip that it feels like. As a god that punishes and that it condemns. As if never more gives me pain. As an interior hate that grows and it grows. As an instant hardly lapsed. As bird for my life, migratory. As something so eeting that he has already left. As if is about another history. As never to anybody I have wanted. As I take to you, in my memory.

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POEM OF THE PROMISE I don't belong to those men that promise one day, but that with the time they end up him to forget. I was born to love you, and that philosophy with me I always take: to love, to love, to love... And this way, every morning, when everything reborns also my awake grateful soul to God, of again to be able to love you somehow, although this strange love is not love of two. What she cares not to have you, when you go to my side as if is your love of an obsession that I am not able to pull up myself; and that it becomes sin; but I am not sorry and I don't wait the pardon. I don't belong to those men that promise one day, but that with the time they end up him to forget. I was born to love you, and that philosophy with me I always take: to wait, to wait...

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ME I drew your imagined body. I gave form to your wanted form. I undressed your soul of the sin. I drew your body in my look. I satiated me of you; I ďŹ lled my soul. I traveled your skin without hugging us. I have discovered in you all my calm. I loved you without to have you neither to surrender. I have loved this way you; more I have remained silent it. I keep you in silence what I sit down. I take you with me in thought. I was born for you in love. Me that am a wound in your side. I breathe the life with your encouragement.

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POEM OF THE MOMENT I have wanted to ďŹ ll you this moment of silence and of love jointly. To defend the stars of your front and to inhabit the castle of your story. I have wanted to feel you as I sit down you: As thirst in the lips, sweet source. As furrow in the earth, my seed. As prize in prayer of a lament. I have wanted to have you with the respect that it deserves your delivery; with sweetness. And to express you everything in a sonnet. But... What vain intent! What madness! Because I miss telling you what point wanted today to write you.

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WHEN YOUR THESE WITH ME In the hidden silence that you bring our looks they spoke our mouths but also quiet. And in the light smile, your lips drew fondness with mine that you grieve touched. It was the space full with a burning ďŹ re and enter our looks: Love!, Love!... Love!. Then... I knew then that everything had been to tell it to you secretly: "Without you, I am lost." And passionately your body in a: I love "you" I united toward my body: "Without you, my love, I die." It was enough a hug then to know you mine. I cried inside then and still cry; still. Your voice broke the silence that we were drawing and I could hear tell you: I love "you Nando... Nando... ". Your ďŹ ngers in my hands were looking for coat. How beautiful you leave everything when you are with me!

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YOUR HAPPINESS Woman, do you say to love me and what have you given me? When me to you my soul gave you. Your heart is silent; quiet Me their words never listened. Maybe, in your interior you have never noticed that me all I have given it with the Faith of being possible to feel for you dear in the same way that I loved you? To be wanted it is not this way necessary the hidden game of the sexuality that a kiss hides in the beautiful scenario of the caresses and the opportunity, of transforming into the alphabet. My love is only your happiness.

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POEM OF THE CONFESSION I will dream that you have been happy a lifetime, although the life is little to dream of you and the dream is so eternal when you are not with me... As a scar she reminds us the wound, my heart was also as the witness of having you so much lover... but I don't tell it to you. You will dream that I have been happy all my life, although a lifetime it has been a punishment and you are the dream that I never get. As losing the Faith in God after the fall, as losing your best friend's soul... I have lost my dream... but I don't tell it to you.

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SONNET OF THE THOUGHT What do they think? I don't care what says people of this love that I offered you; because he is born with you and for you and she dies in the effort and the fatigue of the wheat that doesn't have spike when growing but, in spite of knowing it... I gave it to you. What do they think? I don't care it. I am this way although your indifference punishes me. Never look for answer in your beauty; my love goes further on... and to your purity me everything completely surrendered, with the security and the certainty that your love finishes like it begins in the secret soul that I found you.

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ALPHABET ... Your you will see me one day going by your side; and you won't tell me anything; and I will leave quiet. And I eat somehow I will still love you, I will lift my eyes to be possible to see. And maybe, when contemplating your aged face, I tell me in silence: "How beautiful it has always been." And you will pass of the man's arm that you have loved; but in spite of the time I won't have forgotten, And when seeing you down the street I will remember those days in that went to be where you were accustomed to to be every afternoon. And without telling you she swims, I will go by your side and you you will leave quiet. And that youth that then of tĂ­ she fell in love, in spite of loving you so much... she will make that you forgot so that you don't feel guilty when ďŹ nding it, of this so blind passion. But. you, without remedying it, you will allow to escape a tear it was. And I will understand that I have been, like I supposed that it was: A page written on your calendar, as you were also in mine my alphabet.

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POEM OF THE MISFORTUNE It was my happiness to be in the road of this monotonous life that advances, to transform into reason of hope and in unequivocal answer to my but. It was misfortune to observe my blunder: That you don't have enough Cupid's dart, that balance doesn't exist in the scale of loving and to be loved. And the destination it played bad passing to the feeling, because I pass the life in an I sit down "it" and you the life that spends. If, to be happy, I invented a story: The prince and the Lady that she marries. I don't want to transform into your torture.

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ROSES OF WINTER

“You will "have to where you go always something mine, on the mud, in your soul, my shines but. Yesterday you were landscape... Today you are road on the one that so many strangers" happen.” Felix Alberto Aguirre

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... AND YOUR YOU WENT WITH THE ONE You passed before my own eyes. Not you said anything and anything spoke to you. With a look we are everything. I passed with her... and you went with him. And in that afternoon of monotony in that look ourselves without telling us that. I cried you inside. Nobody noticed it. I passed with her... and you went with him. You passed before my own life. If you make it again, I must lose you because being of other sits down you so mine. I passed with her... and you went with him. Capricious love of a single afternoon that I will surely never forget, as never forgetfulness my cowardly attitude; I passed with her... and you went with him.

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ALTAR Girl good luck. Not forget your baggage because you undertake trip to the train of the indierence and he awaits you impatient, already suit dress, to make you their wife and to be made your gentleman. Girl good luck. There are some promises that no matter how much you insist, you will never carry out. And while their alliance puts you and you kiss her you will close your pupils. and you will remind me. And maybe, when moon nights and honey arrive, you will hug their body, with spite expression, sharing the perspiration of the love in the channel knowing that we were in that same hotel. Girl good luck. Because you that you will go radiant with your white dress on the way to the Altar. I will see you happen when you cross before and a sad tear allows to escape.

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YOU CAN You can leave my like you have arrived; to leave of my life when you want and to fake that I have not fallen in love, as if never more to my you returned. You can leave this way; so suddenly that you grieve me of all that you have left and to show you before my indierent one. lying because you have never loved me; You can leave in the silence of the things more beautiful than he/she brought us the new day and to feel when cursing that they are hateful because you will always live sorry.

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POEM OF THE DECENCY Be not maybe her the most blissful woman: The princess of the story, neither the happy wife. But in the life there are things that are as the Faith and they don't look for answers where there is not a reason. For that reason, her that he knows about the so much suering. Her that he has known what is the I disenchant of to beg a kiss or to wait the caress of the man to the one that you have loved. Without any malice he will dream of my lips. And he will make it without decency knowing that the master; feeling that I adore her. Because in their rebelliousness of enraged woman it doesn't look for in my comfort. It looks for to feel dear. For that reason among their arms she wanted to be made her mine and to feel woman one night. Oh one day! Because her that was pink in a forbidden garden, she has drunk in my lips whenever she has wanted it because without being blissful she has known how to understand that yes there is at least been able to feel a woman.

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WOMAN Inaccessible girl that another person loves if was not hence, she would give you the soul. I motivate of sin, in woman's form, if was human God, she could understand it. Improvised love of a blind passion don't feel guilty for this without reason. Madness that you have entered without hardly to want so inside my soul, as the evening among the large windows of this fourth hole, without wondering she swims, breaking the boredom. Woman that you accompany me in this solitude monotonous of the soul, tell me that you are true.

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POEM OF DESENCUENTRO Let us leave of loving! Resign to kill a noble feeling that she was born among both. Let us stop to think. Let us stop to act and begin me to hate, like I make me with vos. Let us stop to live! Let us stop to feel. That it no longer looks for in you another opportunity. I have to admit it. You have to lie me but you must say it with a great truth. Let us stop to want! We should know to play this departure in that it lost the life and surrender woman. Make it without more. Without seeing as it must hurt me this to want suicide. To love. to live. to want. with woman's name. And her without valuing that she escapes the moment; without an at least expression of their regret while you suer inside that you can get lost. To love. to live. to want. it is not to make it in lament for that reason I go happy toward another dawn.

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BUT YOU WON'T KNOW IT You will fill with memories great part of my life. You will fill my silence... My pain will fill; and when closing a wound, you will open another wound deeper, I foresee, but you won't know it. I will think that you have left slowly, if at all. I will think that you have simply wanted to forget. And to the knowledge that you were in passing as a bird, I will fake my sadness that I should hide. Perhaps this way this anguish, so real and sincere, don't die in a poem feeling that you leave. and when remembering your lips that were spring for this sad autumn, discover that you are not.

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I will learn how to forget quiet way and maybe in the monotonous silence of being thinking what was and I wanted him not to be discover the good sensation of waiting Because this way, with the time, your will already have gotten lost in the fragile memory wanting to remember. And like it is sad to love without being corresponded you will want to return with me and to my door to call. You will fill my memory leaving me a wound. You will fill my silence... My pain will fill; And when running of the years that filled my life... they will say that your you are mine, but you won't know it.

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PASSIONATE SONNET I look for you in the one that to make of each expression and I hide the words in my hands. I hug you sweetly and we ďŹ nd fondness among both. Love this is? questions with your lips and I answer with a delicate silence; we look at ourselves. My passionate mouth... and we kiss each other in a ďŹ rm one: "Yes; love is this." And that delivery runs in our bodies that it arrives until the bones, God that arrives to stay then eternally. Then, with sweetness a look it hides in the silence the prospective one answer of a: I love "you crazily."

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POEM OF THE LUST I want a brave, valiant love and brave able to undress to bites everything. I want a brutal, atrocious love. that in such a way you siembre in the facility with claw my seed. I want vivacity, passion. and I want delivery. To already feel you naked with desire and that you are a feverish woman when my body sees. I want to feel the meat that the sin denies me. Lust this is? Yes. And you see that I don't hide it. A carnal desire that I have stained in you to savor that she has already resuscitated in lewd fullness my adult parvedad. I want sex without more. And I don't want it hidden. That the world has envy. Know it... I have sinned.

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POEM OF THE BEAUTY What beauty your wanted body! What whim of all when happening! What hair in your entangled hands! What thinness you draw, when walking! How look your eyes have left! What desire it begins you to undress! What it forms more human of sin! What greatness she has been able to God to create! However, much more than all that, I, in the soul of your chest discovered. The love that I oered you and that I profess she has been born in the respect, for you, because you are worth much more than a simple kiss. Not you are only sex for my.

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SONNET OF WOMAN To my friend's memory Hermes I have a faithful friend in body and soul that all it transmits it with an expression. He knows what is a honest man and he brings single still; and I sit down calm. I have a faithful lover; and a conďŹ dant. And a guardian for all my secrets. He always receives me with their arms open and it is allowed to seduce patiently. I have a soul caught in my side. He is an angel that has come to my rescue as a dream of unexpected future and in their hands I surrender without combat. I have all that has wanted: a stimulus in my life. an incentive.

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IMPATIENT SONNET I can feel your hand to caress mine with trembling ďŹ ngers of fragile consistency and to stop your hurry and my impatience at the same time knowing that I keep the philosophy of the sage that waited to that it arrived one day in that to be able to love without urgency and urgency. Because in question of love it is worth more the wisdom of the veteran. that this crazy audacity. But I can also feel this intoxication that all it snatches it because all it desires it and to get undressed now to feel mine, in supine ulna, once. and another time. to calm my thirst. My thirst of rebelliousness for every year of impatient agony.

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TO LEAVE OF THIS DAY Starting from this day. it won't be I eat before: Two broken hearts, vagabonds and wandering. I will share with you another people's truth. We will be two lovers in oneself scene of love. And you, quiet, you will keep secretly what you feel with me. And in devote respect we will look for the way of satiating the lies with truths. And maybe. I will feel that you sigh to have listened that in my voice your name goes. And I will teach you, really, what a man is. Starting from this day. you will dissipate your fear because the same as I have come I no longer leave. I stay to become happy what is of life and to become trained, my love that he/she won't have discharged. They will ask, maybe, why this sudden one feeling of love. A secret love that you will protect with the anonimity and you won't give my name, neither neither more fact that to know that the love is sometimes reinvented although it arrives completing the age of the forty.

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POEM OF THE DELIVERY ... And it will arrive that day; that moment will arrive as they arrived other; me you that it must arrive to tell you "mine" and under the firmament I will conjugate in silence with you the verb to love. Not there will be place to the doubt. I will feel you more mine that never, if it is possible, my love, and you will know it. In fín; me lover will wait that day and you, will surely also wait for it. Then, an instant will be enough to our eyes that when looking silent... they will be said without speaking: "How beautiful they are the hours next to you!" and little by little your body with my body I will look for to hug. You will hear then with me, the verses of a poem that me, previously, perhaps never I gave you. They will finish saying: I love "you because you are good." And you will lower the eyes murmuring: "And me to you."

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SONNET OF THE GROWTH The story is very simple: A man one day he/she wanted to give to a rose of drinking and this way every day when returning him quitava the thirst that she suffered. But, they say that he never dared to caress the rose to fear to break that beauty, apparently so pure that the flower to him offered. The story continues, but maybe Is this our history without knowing it? Me fallen in love by your side step and I am the heart about defending it with all that respect that you deserve, so purely human while you grow.

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SONG TO THE HOPE You will fill with indelible memories my front And one day and another day I must never forget you. And you will be with me, in spite of the fact that you are absent. Coarse to close the eyes to be able to dream. You will fill with indelible memories my front when it leaves to the street toward any place. And the park in that we grew will contemplate silente to other adolescents their history to begin. You will fill with indelible memories my front because I continue waiting; me you that you must return; and in our bank I wait, seeing pass people with the same enthusiasm that she waited for you yesterday. You will fill with indelible memories my front; in spite of the fact that you are absent, I must forget you I motivate of my days that she lies for not hurting me saying me: "Tomorrow you that she must return."

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POEM OF THE PARDON Forgive me girl if I have not known how to love you; there are things that she cannot memorize in the life. And I eat in the love not everything it is always to give you, I sit down in your indierence that I begin you to lose. Forgive me girl to go so clumsily calling you to the door that she opens your heart, as a wandering beggar that only looks for a sweet lie, like a compassion. Forgive me girl; I have not known how to love you, when the most beautiful thing has discovered it in you. There are things that I won't know how to be appreciated in the life: You made yourself spring in autumn for my. Forgive me girl; you forgive me if you can, the love that the years transformed into maturity. although in this whole time you never remind me and I try to forget, although it is once.

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MAYBE IN SPRING You arrived in the hidden mystery of a wait and one day, with the years... without knowing the reason, you stopped me the time; maybe in spring. Perhaps; I don't remember it. Only I found you. You were as beautiful as she had dreamt him: Simply beautiful, sweetly woman... Your deeper charm had fallen in love and I wanted little by little to be possible to know. And in that light encounter; that was shy maybe, we left knowing in the formality that it demands a good beginning. And I was leaving step to the tender feeling of the sincerity. You arrived in the hidden mystery of a wait and I wanted to stop to be possible to love slowly; with the time. You arrived in spring to my garden; I didn't want you to begin to y. Sincerely yours was all that she gave and I hide in each expression, perhaps something of love. Shy love maybe that you woke up me and you opened up in spring, like a ower opens up.

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SONG OF THE DELIVERY ... And the years will pass... And it will pass the life; And him man that you have loved with you will continue. And I, surely, cure my own wound with the love that another woman will give me. And the memory will arrive, like to announce us that, our anniversary cannot forget; and June twenty-two, when remembering you and I will be quiet that thirst of loving. And she can that you remember that I loved you so much... And she can that he/she doesn't forget that I so much loved you. But when arriving the day, the charm will reborn of those beautiful years; of how much I surrendered. ... And the years will pass... And it will pass the life; and your tear when seeing me will tell me that you continue being mine; you, my lost illusion and the wounded heart will know it... he/she will know it...

53


MI HAPPINESS It arrived in an instant to be made mine I still burn their eyes; still. It arrived in one afternoon that I must forget. as I loved that day, I have no longer returned to love. A brief moment that there were among both was; eternal in my life, well she knows it God. She brought in their eyes my happiness; it was mine an instant and an eternity. Not a hug, neither a kiss never existed; to love is not an empty expression; without more. All my desire was only in an instant; I have more than enough life; I already have enough. It arrived in one afternoon that I won't forget for sure she doesn't remember what... Small reason of my heart you made yourself habit and also reason. If another instant exists by chance I must no longer get lost, my happiness.

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POEM OF THE DREAM You will be the eternal dream that I looked for every day and that a lifetime I always wanted; What girl it hurts, not to be possible to make mine, me that I loved you so much; me that so much loved you. You will be the dear dream of who you have been oered as print in the sand of your life when happening. And I that anything has, with the expression have learned that everything is so simple... A word: to love. You will be the bitter dream that is in the defeat; the failure in my life that I always hid and that I take with me; and that nobody notices it... but nobody has loved you as me to you I loved you. You will be the dream I avoid of a truth anyone, that she dies in the autumn of each heart; but as the autumn it looks for one spring, my heart waits another declaration. You will be then the dream, and this way, every morning, as the light of the day, my love will go toward you; and she will enter with seal, silente, in your window... although you don't remind me and don't think of my.

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POEM OF THE ROSE I go to be something that happened a good day to a young girl of very early age. It was happy with everything, because all she had it, but it lacked something in their happiness. It was so beautiful and young that all sought their love eternally as declaration; but none knew, because they didn't understand it, that after that beauty there was a heart. And it lapsed this way the time; one year and another year... and one day their beauty also withered The most beautiful owers suer the disappointment, also of a sad autumn that the summer left.

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And they count that there was one day, after so much wait, that after that so beautiful ROSE that it existed, she hid an aroma; spring scent, that the ower like essence, in their absence left. And as all story it hides their teaching also in this history we have to learn; because you will be the ower that my love never reaches, and your aroma the essence; woman's essence.

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IT SEEMS YOUR SILENCE It seems maybe your silence a defeat, that it passes silencing your heart, your mouth... It seems that you wanted, perhaps, to tell me something. It seems not to like you this bitter flavor, that she knows about the life that she knows us so much... It seems your silence to be as a flare... And without telling me she swims, this way to hide everything. It seems that you love me in a so different way... that sometimes without knowing it; sometimes without noticing it I go by your life, but it is better to remain silent it. It seems maybe your silence a defeat, because already anything mine me you that you care it.

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POEM OF THE OPPORTUNITY Me you that you have loved me, although you never say it and they deny me your lips that you have arrived me to love. It is so dierent to everything... That it is almost a lie, but in our measure love it is true. Me you that you have loved me. That you follow me loving as a silent secret of my ďŹ delity, that in you she has gone growing one year and another year... and that you keep so inside that you end up hiding. Me you that you have loved me. That you still follow it making as if is about a necessity; because your love is so big, and at the same time so small... that you ďŹ nd strange but at the same time normal. Me you that you have loved me. Also I to you love you, although both know our bitter truth: That in him and in her, both, we will always remember that there were never in us an opportunity.

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POEM OF THE ENCOUNTER Girl that you are mine without hardly to know it when you are with me, in this room, deciphering a poem that you are about understanding it and it is so simple everything... Coarse your heart. Don't you maybe feel entering for your life? In this room, to alone, we are you and me. The time happening together, we forget everything; and it is so beautiful the moment that arose among both... It seems that you never wanted that it ended up this bitter poem of the disillusion. and to be this way; with me. That nobody bothered... And to close the door that he/she opens your room.

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You know that I love you and me you that you love me; that you await it grows impatient another opportunity. And this way; so slightly, to hear eats up you call pronouncing my name God what a happiness! Every night a mystery, is made in you poetry; she arises to stay eternally; yes. Then in your soul that is also mine, she hides this secret of so much love for tĂ­. Girl that you are mine without hardly to know it; that to single raisins time here in your room, with me; so much love, you, are about hiding it and it is so simple everything... Coarse your heart.

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SONNET OF THE REGRET Girl, no longer insist; I request it to you. The rose of the love withered. You went by my life like the blind man that it passes next to the well that non vió, to calm their thirst. As the peasant that in time of farm it didn't sow, hoping the wheat comes out then... This way, of our love, anything was. Girl, no longer insist; I request it to you as it is invoked to God in sentence; with my soul fully sorry, with whole and with deep devotion. Another rose in the garden has flourished and it requires, now, all my attention.

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POEM OF THE AGE What beauty in your eyes that they write me a song of love with the look; your hands, meanwhile, they receive me and I contemplate your quiet attitude. How little that to tell us or to be. The life a little cares if you are not and with you to my side, it is to hug us that that more I can now me to yearn. What honey they keep your lips; I ignore the secrets of the kiss that I forgot to request you in another time; I admit it; she was so afraid... And now, what. My hands caress with fondness your temples plated by the age and kissing your front with sweetness my lips tremble the necessity of being yours in the expression; of uniting my yearning, to your will and to tell us everything with a kiss if to be loved there has never been age.

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STARRY NIGHT You bring girl in that look color at night and of ďŹ re to your whims I surrender and the dawn arrives. Your hair, girl, your hair... on the soaked skin; my kisses touch your pillow and I melt in your ice. Your body, in the dawn, they draw my lips then and I surrender to your game in a so delicate way. You bring girl in that look color jet the sky and I paint of blue my yearning for another starry night.

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ROSES OF WINTER

“I will be to the turn of your destination offering to the one that passes your lied love. I will follow my print, print of forgetfulness vos will continue what has lost" crying.” Felix Alberto Aguirre

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SHADE How happy it would be shade of your body; and by the light of the day I very close would go your steps continuing. How happy it would be; because growing dark next to tĂ­ it would be, my captive shade, hit to your body.

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CONQUERED LOVE I go discovering your body and nude in stations all my sin; roses of autumn that October has left on your chest, graceful and small. eyes that you sometimes look at me and I doubt; I sit down your hand that has caressed me. For my lips, your mouth has left some secret that persists silent; I revive, then, looking for your hand before the doubt of having you lost. I take your body to be near. Oh God! The life charges another sense. Not I am your angel, secret, or arcane... Unavoidable, your love, it has conquered me.

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POEM OF THE HAPPINESS It was this of mother that came to the world the most beautiful flower in the spring. Bud of happiness, of the born stomach. Divine miracle that God has wanted. If one day my hands, their flower, they reached it is not missed when seeing them as if they trembled. My eyes would be, crying this love, drops of dew that soak their flower. Beautiful among the roses of a forbidden garden, I never wanted as much as I have wanted it.

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It was this of mother... My resignation, my but, my death, my resurrection. If it is beautiful it is their image, bigger their fragrance; perfume that it intoxicates all their elegance. Not there is bigger happiness, as contemplating it but was, maybe, caressing her. Cheerful spring... How beautiful station for a sad autumn of desolation!

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ROSA OF WINTER For my friend Rosa, winter ower Not it is love what I sit down. she calls himself of another name because there is more than the encounter of a woman and a man. And maybe, her that she knows how to happen inadvertent without boast and discreet she will give me their life. Not it is love. It is bigger what I sit down for her. A spring of life and a happy heart. And there will be who reading my verse and poetry do wonder who is? Everything wisdom because of all them, the one that inspired my muse it was a winter rose with the small excuse

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of seeking so alone to make me feel well and it mitigated in my soul to suer so much contempt. Now I contemplate cheerful that I have also been for her more than love and I have corresponded it. Her that was the abandoned wife years ago, attentive and helpful. living resigned. Their traveling soul now reescribirå another history from the anonimity of this dedication because it was pink of winter preludiando the summer and now that it is with me it protects it my hand. Not it is love what I sit down. And perhaps it astonishes you but I should hide their name secretly.

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YOU WILL NO LONGER COME TO SEE ME You will no longer come to see me so that it is with you because you will surely meet with him and you will speak to me saying: It is about a friend" but he will be more good, more human and faithfuler. You will no longer come to see me neither you will already be with me and me you in my silence that will happen this way. It will be for my soul a quiet punishment and for you a friend will simply be. You will no longer come to see me... because you have never come; for that reason really it must worry me, because I will always be what could have been while he will have been what should happen.

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IT CAN BE I want to be born again and this way to resuscitate me of this death that I crawl. To mitigate the past with the today that is present, to reconcile with your lips, your kisses. and your woman love. I want to feel again that I can fall in love because all I can him. That everything can be. And you that you promised so many things that to give me, you will no longer have excuse for another dawn. And maybe, among your arms, you will get him to forget their name, their memory. and the scent of their skin because anything of that survives the honey of your lips, your mouth. Because anything impedes me that she enjoys the moment. The present decides that we live the life without already feeling unfaithful.

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POEM OF THE OATH You will pass filling my empty solitude and you will inhabit the dream that I also dreamt; and as this love it is not the love of one day, me you that I will have you. You will happen; sure. Because your indifference the time will have changed and I will wait for you, because as in the love it is worth more the patience, me you that I will have you. You will happen; for that reason, peacefully I wait when the lived love anything cares; I know it. Because the last are always worth more than the first, me you that I will have you. You will happen, girl, definitively; the years are witness of what I swore you; and I eat in the love patient more being it is worth, me you that I will have you.

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SONNET OF LOVE To my friend David Santos, skin nude Our sonnet that we write among four walls of a hotel, on the naked proďŹ le of the skin, it revives each instant that we feel. This opportunity that both we wanted, healing wounded of her and him. This wedding without signature in a paper she signed the alliance that we gave ourselves: This love that us speech of coherence. This love that puts us in a destination. This love that claims your presence. This love that already shows us the road. This love that she requests you more patience. This love that we know why he/she came.

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LOVE FIRST You went by my side of an accompanied man playing with your hair; with the one that I played. You stopped then perhaps to give me jealousies and she kissed your lips that I also kissed. You wanted to make me I damage but many years ago that you still remind me and I, already forgot you. You went by my life and that small wound the time has already erased; that that I cried. You forget however that it is always something in that love ďŹ rst that I woke up you.

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POEM OF THE YEARNING Tonight without you, of sad affliction a star has fallen darkening the sky. And maybe, when she notices that you are no longer with me begin to be the hate my most sincere friend. Such a brutal, visceral and arrogant hate that she won't forgive not to have you before to be able to kiss those eyes that one day they opened me the window to the love, my life. Tonight without you, of absolute silence I will keep you, if it fits, an infinite mourning because I care anything if you are not to my side; because your full absence the left hole. And I will drag my pain without forgetting that you were The Faith to think that God also exists. Because looking at your eyes, I learned that there is a sky and another life, another dream further on and another yearning.

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SONNET OF THE SADNESS That sad I will go when she has died and don't realize neither that I have left; that in autumn the rose has ourished. The rose of the love that there is in your orchard. My boat will row to your port; the port that you call of the forgetfulness. you seem to forget that I have loved you even still after she has died. That sad I ďŹ nd your apathy, seeing you walk this way; quiet. And to feel that my soul lied me saying me you to be in love, when I never heard you what felt your heart for my: anything of anything.

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THERE IS A VOICE IN YOU For Rosana G端iza for an instant There is a voice in you. that all the awake one of the mundane one I balance. An open expression that when she moves, it converts the apathy of a monotonous Monday, in pure racket. And you that you have known what is the I disenchant be happy you describe, with your voice, that song that it arrives after the waves to feel mine only for an instant; one day and another day. Your voice that is melody that is passion and I smash she tells me that of love you already know so much. that you grieve it hides your scar the wound of some trance with your song to the life. There is a voice in you. that all the awake one and one tomorrow and a yes. and a half-open door.

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INADVERTENT POEM Me that was beggar, of your love ďŹ rst as the ďŹ rst day, you already see that I still love you. Me that so many times tried to forget for not hurting your dreams, my happiness. Me that anything had and that anything has for you I am only this small love. Me that for your life, I happened inadvertent what it cares already anything of what I have lived. Me that there will be some day of dying without more. Anything is important when you are not.

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THAT TIME FIRST Do you remember, my love? It was exactly in spring when we met each other that time first. Your eyes, so beautiful. I will never be able to forget because I learned with them what he/she means to love. And you that in the silence, you learned how to want you taught me to be man being you my wife. With the time we write an indelible history through the children. And this love, indefatigable, that all she guesses it and all it foresees it, he/she never loved me that you would be absent. This love that in us, it heals my wound to teach that there is world beyond the life. Do you remember, my love? It was that time first when Cupid nailed his better arrow. He/she dreamt of kissing you stopping the moment and I already understood then that that for you now sit down: an infinite love that all it overcomes it because you have written in my your true history.

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I IMAGINE YOU Without beginning it has hardly ďŹ nished. Without being able to avoid it, it has happened. Without having you, of you, I have fallen in love. Without knowing the why, you have loved me. Without lying, my silence has remained silent it. Without hearing my words, you have known it. Without being hardly ever me to your side. Without knowing it, this love was shared. Without having you sitting in front of front. Without crossing an instant your road. Without knowing if you leave, neither your destination. Without simply having you with me. Without my nights, in you, I become absent. Without my tears, I never imagine you.

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POEM OF THE ABSENCE I want to forget that I live if I don't make it with her now that with their absence I am her afraid to everything. I want to feel their hands; to ďŹ ght elbow with elbow and to discover in my that she left me a print. I want to survive to look for their star; that that lit my life somehow to rediscover that the time is one period where to forget that I die if I don't make it with her. And I want to rescue their obliging face; and their eyes, witnesses of this thirst of being man. I want to take with me their light and that he/she is surprised when kissing with my lips the dreams of their front because I cry when hearing their voice when it is absent; because I live waiting when acclaiming their name.

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A WORD IN YOU A word in you says fondness A word in my she says comfort A word in you says my yearning A word in my she says madness A word in you says happiness A word in my she says to be flight A word in you says I am sky A word in my she says freshness A word in you says I call you A word in my she says yes; I want A word in you says I wait for you A word in my she says birdcall A word in you says first A word in my she says I love you

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SONNET OF THE FORGETFULNESS You have forgotten my name, and maybe, I went by your life loving this way you: I was that traveler that came in passing but, when being, she already stayed here. And the train of the love arrived with delay. What has given to see you me there! Of foot, in the platform. in spite of the scarce time of telling you: “I love you�. Your you are for my, The reason of the time that my soul has stopped in that afternoon that I met you. The dream that always, always. I have wanted. What has given to arrive to you! And to see you of foot. That have awaited me. That I was that traveler. That I was. That was.

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SONNET OF THE PRELUDE To Marisa's memory Tonight without moon and without star, that prelude the death of a poet of trembling hand and something restless I will stop to write thinking of her. Tonight there won't be more beautiful thing that to dream of their hug and that, discreet, my solitude coos and that it presses me signing my lips with their print. And me that must kill this agony this vital anguish, without consideration, I will calm down with their eyes my torture knowing that she wanted to be made mine although was in the last moment of living to die in company.

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IT SURROUNDS EMPTY This empty glass that avoids the intoxication, maybe yes it makes drunk if it is the ďŹ rst time. Because taking this sip of sad solitude I learned that already anything is by chance. It maybe for that reason trembles now in my hands what the time consumes and the wait devours: A glass for short youth's swig with the bitter avor of the vicissitude. Because as an old book that has already been read and it is in the drawer. I will be in forgetfulness until again somebody wants to read what has felt a man loving a woman.

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PAGINA EN BLANCO


INDICE POEM OF THE MYSTERY . . . . . . . . . . 9 AS I TAKE TO YOU . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 ETERNAL LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 POEM OF THE BANK . . . . . . . . . . . 14 POEM OF THE SHARED SOUL . . . . 15 WHERE ANOTHER LOVE BEGINS . . . . . 16 POEM OF THE SIN . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 WHAT YOU WOULD GIVE . . . . . . . . . . 18 IN HER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 POEM OF THE AGE . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 POEM OF THE BLAME . . . . . . . . . . . . 21 SAD WEDNESDAY . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22 AS I TAKE TO YOU . . . . . . . . . . . . 23 POEM OF THE PROMISE . . . . . . . . . 24 ME . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 POEM OF THE MOMENT . . . . . . . . . . 26 WHEN YOUR THESE WITH ME . . . . . . 27 YOUR HAPPINESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 POEM OF THE CONFESSION . . . . . . . . 29 SONNET OF THE THOUGHT . . . . . . . 30 ALPHABET . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 POEM OF THE MISFORTUNE . . . . . . . . . 32


AND YOUR YOU WENT WITH THE ONE ALTAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . YOU CAN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE DECENCY . . . . . . . . WOMAN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF DESENCUENTRO . . . . . BUT YOU WON'T KNOW IT . . . . . . PASSIONATE SONNET . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE LUST . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE BEAUTY . . . . . . . . SONNET OF WOMAN . . . . . . . . . . IMPATIENT SONNET . . . . . . . . . APARTIR OF THIS DAY . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE DELIVERY . . . . . . . . SONNET OF THE GROWTH . . . . . SONG TO THE HOPE . . . . . . POEM OF THE PARDON . . . . . . . . . MAYBE IN SPRING . . . . . . . . SONG OF THE DELIVERY . . . . . . . MI HAPPINESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE DREAM . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE FABLE . . . . . . . . . IT SEEMS YOUR SILENCE . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE OPPORTUNITY . . . .

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POEM OF THE ENCOUNTER . . . . . . . . SONNET OF THE REGRET . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE AGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . STARRY NIGHT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SHADE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CONQUERED LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE HAPPINESS . . . . . . . . . ROSA OF WINTER . . . . . . . . . . . . . YOU WILL NO LONGER COME TO SEE ME IT CAN BE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE OATH . . . . . . . . . . . . SONNET OF LOVE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LOVE FIRST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE YEARNING . . . . . . . . . SONNET OF THE SADNESS . . . . . . . . . THERE IS A VOICE IN YOU . . . . . . . . . INADVERTENT POEM . . . . . . . . . . . THAT TIME FIRST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I IMAGINE YOU . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . POEM OF THE ABSENCE . . . . . . . . . . A WORD IN YOU . . . . . . . . . . . . . . SONNET OF THE FORGETFULNESS . . . . SONNET OF THE PRELUDE . . . . . . . . . IT SURROUNDS EMPTY . . . . . . . . . . .

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PAGINA EN BLANCO


This first edition of Roses of Winter of Fernando Marín finished printing in Madrid, in the shops of the printing Graphic Almudena October 22 of

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PAGINA EN BLANCO


PAGINA EN BLANCO


Writer from Madrid, settled down in Paracuellos of Jarama, Fernando MarĂ­n was born in 1969. Journalist and editor directs the magazine of the Community of Madrid SEVEN STARS. Their literary career began to the 12 year-old age still winning important rewards and literary prizes among those that it highlights the National Prize of ELEVEN (in 2 occasions) o'clock for its poem "My eyes without seeing" and "Memories." Among the years 1992-1996 published a small trilogy: Encounters (1992), Declarations (1994) and Absences (1996). Two years later it threw their poemario The Voice that he/she Draws (1998) you and recently a summary with unpublished poems in their book Allegories (2009). Their work of 2010 is picked up in the Pink poemario of Winter. Recognized writer for critical important litearios, journalists and writers, this author's from Madrid verses are considered as the inheritance of the romanticism of the XX century inspired by authors like Pablo Neruda, JosĂŠ Angel Buesa, Alfonsina Storni or Mario Benedetti.


ROSES OF WINTER