Poema titulado Dear, Buenos Aires en la sección LA TORRE DE BABEL , de la categoría Tu Mundo Literario :: Publicar Poesía en VERSO; My darling I could never have imagined the taste of the tiles under the evening soft rain... -Maybe the walls ...
Dear, Buenos Aires
My darling
I could never have imagined the
taste of the tiles
under the evening soft rain...
-Maybe the walls just should fall over us now-
The kisses of each stone would relieve
the pain
of not hearing
the river flowing
through our door.
René Escobar
23-08-10
Respuesta: Dear, Buenos Aires Hola orees, muy romántico, una combinación de pintura, arte, y otras cositas más, se siente como disfrutas las tardes lluiosas en grata compañia. Un cordial saludo chico, cuidate. Estrellaspor orees19
My darling
I could never have imagined the
taste of the tiles
under the evening soft rain...
-Maybe the walls just should fall over us now-
The kisses of each stone would relieve
the pain
of not hearing
the river flowing
through our door.
René Escobaront = "Arial"] [SIZE = "3"] Mi querida
Nunca podría haber imaginado
el gusto de los cuadros
bajo la suave lluvia por la noche ...
-Tal vez las paredes sólo debe recaer sobre nosotros ahora
Los besos de cada piedra aliviaría
el dolor
de no oír
el río que fluye
a través de nuestra puerta.
René Escobar
23-08-10
¡SONRIE!
Re: Dear, Buenos Aires Heartfelt love lines in the distance.
René Thanks for sharing your conversations.
A hug.
pd. Your poem is actually going to the Tower of Babel
Re: Dear, Buenos Aires
My darling
I could never have imagined the
taste of the tiles
under the evening soft rain...
-Maybe the walls just should fall over us now-
The kisses of each stone would relieve
the pain
of not hearing
the river flowing
through our door.
René Escobar
23-08-10
René, it's beautiful ... You know what? I imagine a postcard, yes, one of those we receive from someone special (from far away…). It’s as if the content on the card reveals what “they” have lived: a magical moment dancing over the accomplice canvas… and suddenly-involuntarily-she walks away….And from there, he sent the postcard to her, confessing what should happen soon…
"... The taste of the tiles under the soft evening rain ..." This verse is so rich and sensorial. The rain, mud, and sepia colors (colors of a rain-soaked skin shimmering under the moonlight ...).
"" Maybe the walls should just fall over us now, "This verse seems to be decisive.
Well, I think that once the river starts running, it is impossible to stop it ... Remember that the wind has a lot to do for the float to elevate once again, and reach the cracks in our doors...
I feel the nostalgic melody trapping the soft rainy night at Buenos Aires...
Thank you for sharing.
As always, a pleasure reading you...
Patricia
Última edición por yOnOsoyEva; 25/08/2010 a las 10:34
http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eVp5kRk9dB.../s320/flor.jpg
El arte necesita de la soledad,de la miseria [y]o de la pasión.Es una flor roquera que pide vientosfuertes y terrenos duros.
(Dumas Alexandre)
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