Un nuevo y caluroso saludo, biblionautas.
Como sabéis, al término de la última travesía nuestra nave remontó el vuelo en busca de nuevos horizontes e inéditas sensaciones. Habiendo jalonado los cielos sin perder un solo detalle de lo que nuestros sentidos percibían, sumergiéndonos en cada ráfaga de viento y dejándonos querer por cada rayo de sol, nos hemos dado cuenta de que nuestro barco siempre gozará, ineludiblemente, de dos inseparables compañeros de viaje, como le ocurre, sin excepción, a cada ser humano: las luces y las sombras.
Ninguna persona cabal puede negarlo: la vida nunca resulta ser una felicidad completa, así como el dolor tampoco está llamado a durar indefinidamente. Nosotros, por otro lado, tampoco somos integralmente puros ni absolutamente perversos. Es la conjunción de ambas tendencias y realidades la que nos enriquece y define, la que nos impele a luchar por ser mejores y dotar de sentido a una existencia que en ocasiones puede antojarse amarga, monótona e insípida.
Una vez más, y de acuerdo con la percepción anterior, decidimos ofreceros una revista temática, con esas dos facetas como ejes guía de nuestro compendio literario. Alzaremos la vista en pos de níveos destellos cuando anhelemos un atisbo de esperanza o precisemos compartir nuestra dicha; nos refugiaremos, por el contrario, en los oscuros recovecos de nuestra alma cuando nos sintamos alicaídos y tristes, o nos esconderemos en la penumbra de nuestras dudas y en el vacío de la ignorancia cuando tengamos miedo. No rechazaremos ninguno de los dos estados de ánimo, pese a ser elocuentemente antagónicos. Comprenderemos que toda situación o acontecer es circunstancial, pasajero, y sacaremos lo mejor de cada momento.
Y sobre todo, naturalmente, tendremos siempre presente que sois vosotros los últimos pero más importantes depositarios de todos esos instantes. Como viene a significar el seudónimo de una de nuestras más curtidas navegantes, de nuevo os hacemos llegar lo más valioso de nosotros para la más afable de vuestras acogidas.
Salud y buena lectura.
Perdiste tu estrella hace tiempo,
creíste que no había nada más,
buscaste indeciso entre sombras,
creíste sin rumbo naufragar;
hoy buscas en mí una solución
y no es tu criterio
el que me hace sentir,
son tus maneras y tus excusas
las que no puedo asumir.Yo sé que tú,
en tu soledad,
buscas un sendero
y un ideal
pero ya es viejo
aquello que creíste
en tu divagar.Mira mis ojos, cansados de vivir,
esperando sueños que nunca
se acaban por cumplir;
¿dónde quedó la ilusión
y dónde aquella amistad
que a base de un refugio
se pudo alimentar?
En las sombras insondables
del devenir de mi vida
como un pozo de agua fresca
apareció tu sonrisa.Fuiste el don que mitigó
el dolor de mis heridas.
Tú me guiaste en la noche.
Tú fuiste mi luz un día.Yo me encontraba sin rumbo
en el mar de las mentiras.
Tú me enseñaste el camino.
Tu fuiste mi tierra un día.En ti descubrí el porqué
del valor de una caricia.
Tú fuiste mi corazón.
Tú fuiste mi pulso un día.No busqué más recompensa
que tu fuerza en mi desidia.
Tú fuiste mi firmamento.
Tú fuiste mi cielo un día.Y ahora que debo irme
y que mis pasos te olvidan
siento el calor remanente
del ayer que ya no brilla.Y en mi senda solitaria
libremente decidida
buscaré nuevos arroyos
y otra flor en sus orillas.Fuiste todo para mí
pero la nada nos mira.
Tú fuiste mi fiel lucero.Tú fuiste mi luz un día.
Tendidos en el suelo,
aún calientes esos cuerpos,
su sangre mezclada con el arco iris.
Antaño cantaron épicas canciones
que honraron su valor sin igual.
Fueron hombres criados por el sol,
que les enseñó a abrirse paso
en los oscuros brazos del olvido.
Fue la luna quien dio forma a sus corazones,
para amar y poder ser amados.
Creyeron enarbolar la bandera de la libertad,
la justicia era la musa que los guiaba.
Defensores de causas perdidas,
surcaron mil y un obstáculos,
llenos de sangre, sudor y lágrimas.
Les ocultaron la razón por la cual luchaban
y el tiempo acabó por vencer su indomable valor.
Miedo, angustia, desesperación.
Soledad, vacío, desesperanza.
Partieron una mañana al alba
mas jamás lograron regresar.
Todos los tomaron por héroes,
héroes que debían resolver sus problemas,
héroes que harían elevar la moral
de un pueblo ávido de esperanza,
mas sólo eran hombres
que buscaban redimirse de sus pecados.
Ahora se acuerdan de ellos,
quizá el tiempo los olvidará.
Son héroes vacíos, sin salida.
Son héroes del ayer,
aquellos que libraron batallas perdidas.
Honremos su memoria
pues ya no es tiempo de héroes.
Finally, a ray of light came through his cell’s narrow hole. The soiled air of prison filled the decaying atmosphere, and the tension of the adjacent corridor filtered through the tiny fissures of the eastern wall; moreover, fighting shadows struggled to keep their corner protected like a conceited defiance cast to the very Sun.
He was condemned: he knew and it was nothing left on his own to avoid it. As his tortured mind insisted to repeat like a malicious echo, there were situations in life in which a sinful second was able to bind you to an endless purgatory and a definitive deadly end. That was exactly what had occurred and those months of penitence his brain had been undergoing were next to be consumed. Very soon the morning would get rid of its shyness and would shine brilliant and clear for the last time. Guessing that moment to be so close he dropped himself to the floor, shattered, and plunged into the deepest sadness once again.
He could feel no rage. His abandoned room was a well deserved expiation place for him, an assassin who had killed cruelly and therefore had to die. He would not achieve to recall the reasons… perhaps for there were no reasons at all. However he knew, in spite of the category he had been located in, that this one was not completely right. He had committed a crime and he strongly regretted about it now, but he was not a criminal. It had been a mistake, an instant of insanity, an unbound delusion… who knows. He had not murdered, or robbed, anyone before. He was not a clever serial killer. He had just slain one person… although that was enough to send him rightfully to the most frightful hell.
He stood up slowly and lay on his frayed bed. Later, he allowed the hours to slide unhurriedly across his forehead until, like a providential gift, he felt profoundly asleep.
Without voluntary control, his freaky mind led him, by means of a miracle of recreation, to the stage of his murder. Oniric mists crossed calmly and unstoppably the place, giving their piece of unreality to the moment; it was not enough, nevertheless, to be doubtful about what was coming next. As if a gesture of benevolence or a sign of divinity were involved, his fate showed him images being the main character… and still not guilty. He had not pulled the trigger yet. Just a few seconds remained before his terrible misconception. Was the dream offering him a second chance?
There that woman was. And there the gun was also, bright and provocative, awaiting to be used again to finish what his twisted head had made up not much time before. Its metallic presence was screaming for being handed and to terminate the nightmare.
That was the unfortunate decision he had taken fifteen years ago; the option that had brought him to this stranded plot in the middle of nowhere. The same option he was furiously going to turn down now, though he only could succeed inside a fantasy that was just the prologue to his death. He would not make the same mistake twice.
Beyond his imagination, in the real world, the agonizing sound of the “damnation ring” made the jail guards notice the time of his execution had come. They moved forward martially along the corridor, leaving their black boots, the cries and the weeping of the imprisoned , who stared at them from both sides with tired and short-sighted eyes, behind. They surrounded the last corner and took the aisle which contained the dungeon of the electric chair’s next client.
Inside the dream, the captive had made up his mind. With no trace of hesitation, he caught the gun and loaded it noisily. After this he aimed the pistol to his throat before his forthcoming victim’s terrified look… and finally shot. The detonation, raw and brutal, invaded mortally the place.
Outside, into reality, the keepers had almost reached their goal. With serious and impassive faces, they were getting ready to share the prisoner’s last steps when, suddenly, something like a bang could be heard all around, shaking the surroundings, perversely rebounding against the penal complex’s walls.
A static silence fell down. Nevertheless it was not a physical one, the manifestation of serenity, but an absolute, mighty, renewing state. Led by inertia the guards stopped when reaching their target, with enough time to ask themselves: “Why were we heading for this chamber, if it is unfilled?” They would not understand why they would wear the executions’ uniforms, if there was none today. Into the adjoining cells, the men were sleeping or were being defeated by tedium, seeming not to be aware of anything at all.
At the same time, like a dramatic piece’s final act, certain grave with certain epitaph comprising a female’s name vanished at certain nearby cemetery. Immediately, the neighbouring earth devoured hungrily the remaining void, so efficiently that only the dying could attest they had had company in the past.
Si necesitas algo, puedes contactar con nosotros a través de nuestro correo electrónico.