Nymphs

The visions interlace

becoming a monochromatic mass.

They sleep in my imaginary uterus...

There, they remain warm

and are wrapped out 

of the evils of the world

while getting ready

to dilate their pupils

and let the light go through

Their photosensitive skins.

Did I find them?

Or did they find me?

…It’s God who decides

To put them into my flesh

and forces me to give birth on knees?

... I bid with all my strength

finding pleasure in pain

and in the dissociation of my being

And finally I see them:

little nymphs come out

from the waterfall of my belly

and the darkness of my viscera ...

Still wet with insecurities,

Dirty of the sebum of my beliefs.

Not totally accustomed

to the misfortunes of the earth

nor the larvae and beetles

That perch in the trees.

Some other times they come out cleaner,

more pure and grown,

but without so much beauty ...

without the delicacy of who can die

if being sharply manipulated.

Then I take them in my arms,

I watch them

And create lullabies

to swing them

and make them dream 

 polymorphic universes

of multicolored skins

and names that never were said.

Image: Pinterest. 

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