Good Bye

good bye by jorge zea

I whispered softly in her ear and thanked her for being brave in this, her world, that we have destroyed one blow at a time.

She didn’t answer,

…but she held on tight to her tree just waiting for the end.

With a tear and a smile, I walked away.

 

Jorge Zea

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Arrival of Paradise

Arrival of Paradise by Jorge Zea

And finally in a rainy night,

Swiftly, paradise came.

 

 

Jorge Zea

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Waiting for the Parade

waiting for the parade by jorge zea

We grew up!

…happily we found each other and without noticing, we grew wings.

We flew and flew throughout the world looking at landscapes and characters with smiles and with tears.

We were art.

We were part of a parade with chariots, clowns, jugglers and mythical beings.

We rocked back and forth hanging from branches of trees … and we flew.

We made part of life’s parade with colorful laughs and crystal tears.

Drifted through the mysterious world of dreams …and we flew.

We were part of the parade with cars of war and saw soldiers hypnotized by the tongue of parade’s  grand master that guided them unconscious to the abyss.

And in silence we saw them sliding to the deep abyss of bullets and cannons …and we flew.

…and without noticing it our wings became stronger and we decided to wait for new parades.

…and we flew!

 

Jorge Zea

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Tears

tears by jorge zea

…and three days later all had been eaten by the hawk.

Jorge Zea

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Bicycle

Bicycle by Jorge Zea

This bicycle, silent witness of my afternoon rides along the beach.

Summer here brings afternoon rain, but this only encourages my rides.

There is a smell of iodine because of the seaweed dying on the sand and of wet earth.

I get back home,

…a warm shower and I rejoice with the tender sensation on my skin when I put on my dry pajamas.

I sit on my small balcony with a red wine to see the rain fall.

With my silence.

This silence that I so much love and my solitude that I adore now that I am in my silver years.

…one advice: never devote your life, as did I, to being a circus trapezist

 

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The Prince

The Prince by Jorge Zea

He sells cheap Jamaican merchandise at street fairs.

…and Bob Marley t-shirts.

I imagine the long dreadlocks bundled under his turban and I hear his soft voice almost like an ancient Jamaican whisper.

He lost his sense of smell after he bumped his head long time ago,

…and he doesn’t like broccoli even though he is a vegan.

A real Rastafari, …and a “Prince”.

-“¿How come a Prince?” I asked.

Whispering, without smiling, and with charming spontaneity he explained me the obvious.

…elemental explanation:

-“My mother is a Queen and my father, a King!”

 

 

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The Bard

The Bard by Jorge Zea

The Bard

Since he was a kid, at school, they accused him of irrational and crazy. He read the Greeks in rigorous order and Esopo’s fables. He learned mathematics with Pythagoras and physics with Einstein without using a calculator.

When he was a teenager he traveled the world and dreamed himself a dragon and a knight at the same time. He stood at Ararat with Emzara and Noah and crossed the Red Sea with Moses.

He was locked in a house with bars on the windows and from there he discovered America with Triana when he saw land first from La Pinta’s crow’s nest. He rode on horseback through Mongolia and became Genghis Khan. He liberated faraway lands and sailed the seven seas without leaving his immense cell.

They made him take medicines that trimmed his wings but not his prodigious ability to write stories and he became a bard, a fortune-teller and a poet.

Now he lives his old years peacefully because now he knows without mistake, that all of these were only dreams. Only dreams created by the infinite abyss of his mind.

He now lives with complete serenity his unique and peremptory reality because he discovered, at last, his true identity: he now knows that he is just Napoleon returning to his native Corcica to die among his people.

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In Silence

Silence by Jorge Zea

…and yet at school he sat quietly in a corner.

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Agnes

Agnes by Jorge Zea

Agnes

Agnes wakes up every morning very early with the sun. She looks all day through her window on the second floor of the old building. The building is being demolished in a couple of months and she already knows it. She has lived in this room since when everybody died.

Only Lady Rachel survived; she lives in number three and sings opera in the shower, but she doesn’t hit a note.

As if Agnes would know, she is deaf since birth… but a flirt.

She dined chickpeas with sausage and got ready to go out.

She put on her wig, chose a perfume from Paris.

Red feathers as earrings tonight.

Talc on her neck and chest; another sip of red wine.

Mascara to thicken her eyebrow; and lashes;

Blue eye shadow to match her blue eyes.

Opening the door she grabbed her rat, and went to the park to flirt with the sunset.

 

 

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Playing with Daisies

Playing with Daisies by Jorge Zea

Playing with Daisies

I had gone through seven Daisies already when I realized that it would always end in “she loves me”.

 

 

 

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