{"id":363,"date":"2021-04-29T18:16:03","date_gmt":"2021-04-29T18:16:03","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/?p=363"},"modified":"2021-11-11T17:56:49","modified_gmt":"2021-11-11T17:56:49","slug":"the-river-is-also-a-brother","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/?p=363","title":{"rendered":"THE RIVER IS ALSO A BROTHER"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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THE RIVER IS ALSO A BROTHER<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The river has dried up.
At the bottom of its empty basins
the wind narrates histories of dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


With the absence of its waters
the sun draws obituaries and skeletons
of earth.

The moon cries for its misplaced nocturnal
face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The river has dried up.
With its course deserted it waits for kindnesses
from the weeping of dark sky
and so retrieve its name
its name of dampness and sound
adorned with waves
of mud
of cascades.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The dry river
old with wrinkled skin
wants to reincarnate its weariness
in the new current of other waters
the freshness of clear breezes
and to sing again of diaphonous torrents.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The dry river dreams a dream that lives full
of scaled lives
of lichens
of mosses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


It wants to boast to the sun of expanses.

It desires to mirror again
the crazy caprices and stars
of whoever set them in space.

It misses the rings,
the concentric circles
the splash
the foam
and the longing of its vapors
that once were the guests
of its now vacant caverns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The dry river
nevertheless itself loves every hollow,
believing each to be a wall of future surprises
of relics<\/p>\n\n\n\n


of fish hooks
of coins buying it desires
of its own juggled desires.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It loves the memory
of some bare feet walking along it
of some naked body caressing it
and the greedy dance of the tree
that within sees its own reflection<\/p>\n\n\n\n


The dry river
understands when its own time ends.

It cannot bear to appear like man
who also is dry
without relics
as the water ends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n

EL R\u00cdO TAMBI\u00c9N ES UN HERMANO<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

El r\u00edo se ha secado.
En el fondo de sus cuencas vac\u00edas
el viento narra historias de polvo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Con la ausencia de sus aguas
el sol dibuja esquelas y esqueletos de tierra.


La luna llora el extrav\u00edo de su rostro
nocturno.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


El r\u00edo se ha secado.
Con su ruta desierta espera las bondades
del llanto de un cielo oscurecido
y as\u00ed recuperar su nombre
su nombre de humedad y ruidos
ataviados de oleajes
de lodo
de cascadas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


El r\u00edo seco
viejo de pieles arrugadas
quiere reencarnar su cansancio
en la nueva corriente de otras aguas
frescor de brisas n\u00edveas
y otro cantar de di\u00e1fanos torrentes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


El r\u00edo seco sue\u00f1a a so\u00f1ar que vive lleno
de vidas escamadas
de l\u00edquenes
de musgos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Le quiere presumir al sol de exuberancias.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


Desea espejear de nuevo
caprichos lun\u00e1ticos y astrales
de quien se opone a \u00e9l en el espacio.

Extra\u00f1a los anillos
los c\u00edrculos conc\u00e9ntricos
el salpicar
la espuma
y la ansiedad de sus vapores
que alguna vez fueron los hu\u00e9spedes
de sus cavernas hoy vac\u00edas.

El r\u00edo seco
sin embargo ama de s\u00ed cada oquedad
la cree futuro pozo de sorpresas
de reliquias

de anzuelos
de monedas compr\u00e1ndole deseos
a sus propios deseos malabares.

Ama el recuerdo
de algunos pies descalzos camin\u00e1ndole
de alg\u00fan cuerpo desnudo en \u00e9l acarici\u00e1ndose
y la danza codiciosa del \u00e1rbol
que en su adentro el reflejo se miraba.

El r\u00edo seco
comprende la finitud de su tiempo.

Le enfada parecerse al hombre
que igual queda reseco
sin reliquias
igual se le termina el agua.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

Andrea Montiel<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

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    THE RIVER IS ALSO A BROTHER The river has dried up.At the bottom of its empty basinsthe wind narrates histories of dust. With the absence of its watersthe sun draws obituaries and skeletons of earth. The moon cries for its misplaced nocturnal face. The river has dried up.With its course deserted it waits for kindnessesfrom […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":364,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[19,22],"tags":[50,54,53,48,46,51,49,52,47],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/363"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=363"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/363\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":366,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/363\/revisions\/366"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/364"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=363"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=363"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/andreamontiel.mx\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=363"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}