Friday, February 11, 2005

Zamira Arias

La vida pasa
mis dias pasan
Las cosas pasan

Aunque veo no lo creo
Aunque escucho no lo creo
Aunque siento no lo creo

Se que no necesito mas tiempo
Se que no es necesario mas tiempo
se que no deberia darnos mas tiempo

Pero si se que lo que vivo no sera mas
Que lo que sufro no sera mas
que lo indesiable no sera mas

Tu vendras
tu lo haras
tu lograra esa paz

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Los Triunfadores

LOS TRIUNFADORES
A veces los triunfadores no son aquellos a los que todo el mundo aplaude y reconoce. No son los que construyeron grandes obras, dejaron constancia de su liderazgo o viajaron, en primera clase.
A veces los triunfadores no son los administradores geniales, ni los visionarios del futuro o los grandes emprendedores. Por ello, tal vez no los reconoceríamos en medio de tanto pensador, filósofo o tecnólogo, que supuestamente conducen a este mundo por la senda del progreso.
A veces el triunfador no es el negociador internacional, o el hacedor de empresas de clase mundial o el deslumbrante estadista que asiste a reuniones cumbre.
No es el que se afana por exportar mucho, sino el que todavía se importa a sí mismo.
Porque el triunfador puede ser también el que calladamente lucha por la justicia, aunque no sea un gran orador o un brillante diplomático.
El triunfador puede ser igualmente el que venció la ambición desmedida y no fue seducido por la vanidad o el poder.
Es triunfador el que no obstante que no viajó mucho al extranjero, con frecuencia hizo travesías hacia el interior de sí mismo para dimensionar las posibilidades de su corazón.
Es el que quizás nunca alzó soberbio su mano en el podium de los vencedores, pero triunfó calladamente en su familia y con sus amigos y los cercanos a su alma.
Es, quizá, el que nunca apareció en las páginas de los periódicos, pero sí en el diario de Dios; el que no recibió reconocimientos, pero siempre obtuvo el de los suyos; el que nunca escribió libros, pero sí cartas de amor a sus hijos y el que pensó en redimir a su país a través de la asfixiante aventura de su trabajo común y rutinario y aquel que prefirió la sombra, porque, finalmente, es tan importante como la luz.
A veces el triunfador no es el que tiene una esplendorosa oficina, ni una secretaria ejecutiva, ni posee tres maestrías; no hace planeación estratégica ni elabora reportes o evalúa proyectos, pero su vida tiene un sentido, hace planes con su familia, tiene tiempo para sus hijos y encuentra fascinante disfrutar de la hermosa danza de la vida.
A veces el triunfador no pasa a la historia, sino el que hace posible la historia; el que encuentra gratificante convencer y no sólo vencer y el que de una manera apacible y decidida lucha por hacer de este mundo un mejor lugar para vivir.
A veces el triunfador no tiene que ser el que construyó grandes andamiajes y estructuras administrativas, pero supo cómo construir un hogar; no es el que tiene un celular, pero platica con sus hijos, no tiene email, pero conoce y saluda a sus vecinos, no ha ido al espacio exterior, pero es capaz de ir hacia su espacio interior y sin haber realizado grandes obras arquitectónicas, supo construirse a sí mismo y fue, como dice el poeta, el cómplice de su propio destino.
A veces el triunfador suele ser Teresa de Calcuta, o Francisco de Asís o Nelson Mandela, o tal vez la enfermera callada, el obrero sencillo y el campesino olvidado, porque como personas triunfaron sobre la apatía o el desencanto y con su esfuerzo cotidiano establecieron la diferencia.
A veces el triunfador puede ser el carpintero pobre de un lugar ignorado, o una mujer sencilla de pueblo o un niño humilde que nació en un pesebre, porque no había para él lugar en la posada...

Squirrel on the Run

By
Enrique Batista

Last summer, I was watching television, nothing out of the ordinary, until one unexpected guest came to my room. I said, “ De donde salio esa ardilla, “because all the windows were closed and the air conditioner was on. The squirrel jumped downstairs like a crazy frog and did a perfect landing on the carpet. I thought that the squirrel belonged to the family downstairs, maybe their pet, don’t know, but not unusual because they love animals. They have two dogs and one strange hamster, which makes noises like an angry mob.

I was curious to find out from where that squirrel came from, so I was paying attention if it would make her show again. I was like a spectator on a Broadway show, but watching an empty stage. I was telling myself, “ Talvez ya se fue a un arbol.” I told my little sister, “ what happened?” and then I asked her, “ Do you know what squirrels eat besides corns?” Then, she said, “ Well, rabbits like carrots, and squirrels are almost like rabbits, why don’t you try carrots?” A very innocent idea, but still it was an idea, so I tried but nothing happened. After that, I gave up looking for the squirrel thinking if what I had seen was real, or just a fantasy looking for window to escape

Squirrel on the run Posted by Hello

Frozen Lake  Posted by Hello

Looking Back

R. Milian

It has been twenty five years since I attended my first school in the United States. I can remember my first day like it was yesterday. Many of the moments that I encountered on that day were unusual, but now that I think about them, I am delighted that I lived those memories.

One of those moments occurred when I walked into my classroom for the very first time. I remember clearly seeing all the students’ eyes looking in my direction. I saw their gaze landing on my body like humid air, as I stood by the door looking back at them nervously. It was astounding to see children from all over the world. The teacher introduced me to the class, while my palms felt sweaty and sticky. They could have easily attached themselves to the refrigerator like a magnet. For that reason, I was relieved that I did not have to shake hands with anybody. After my introduction, I was assigned a seat, which was not very comfortable. On my right, I saw a student from Ecuador and on my left, one from Peru. From my seat, I quickly noticed that the students did not wear uniforms. I was extremely surprised because in my country almost everyone had to wear one. Uniforms and books had been a part of my world for seven grades. They had become part of my identity, however, now, all of a sudden, I was a car without wheels stuck motionless.

Next, my attention was focused on the teacher and all the students who listened attentively to her. You could hear a pin drop; the silence in the classroom was terrifying! I had never seen a teacher command so much attention. Every student seemed to ask questions automatically and the responses were quick without any hesitation. She was a musical conductor working to perfection. After that, I started to look at everything in the classroom. I noticed an immense closet in the back of the room. All the students’ coats were hanging there except for mine. I also saw something that looked like a chalkboard, but it wasn’t really a chalkboard. It had figures and drawings made out of paper. Later, I found out it was called a bulletin board. The chalkboard looked larger than the ones in my country, and the windows were giant notebook pages. Against the wall, there was something that resembled an accordion, which made a piercing noise like a cat that had been left alone by its owners without any food or water. Heat came out of it, and it made the room feel warm. But at that moment, I did not want to feel warm because I was perspiring profusely like an iceberg lost on a tropical island searching for the relief of the North Pole. I had forgotten to take off my coat!
At lunchtime, the class was taken to the cafeteria. I had never seen anything like it! My old school did not have these many tables. Each brown square table was like pieces of chocolate in an enormous box. I never had to get on line to get food. I can’t remember exactly what I ordered, but I know someone in the class made me feel comfortable in this place. I finally had a chance to relax and talk to some of the students. I was a little bashful, but they were friendly.

At the end of the school day, I was eager to go home. I wanted to tell my parents what I had experienced. I wanted to tell them everything. All of a sudden, the shyness I had experienced during the day had disappeared and transformed itself into a little boat, which was moving away from the harbor ready to deliver all the news. On my way home, I was satisfied that I had survived my first day of school in the United States. Punto.

Jorge Seguen

When do I pause and yield to ....
caravans of emotions
unanswered questions
chained thoughts?


Why do I still ....
insist on certain expectations
Ache for solidarity
cry for painful testimonies?

How do i continue to ....
Give regardless of takers
Smile in the middle of the fighting
Speak even though I'm silent?

What do i say to my listeners?
which part of me should i discard?
who sings my song?

Rilke says keep asking
the universe is listening.


Angel Carrazana

Ambitious guest who we don't know
we don't see you coming,
we don't feel you staying,
we don't know how you are

Invisible, unfriendly guest,
trying to take our feelings away,
trying to separate us from the world,
Thank God our feelings are strong

Damaging our house while you stay,
taking us from life and happiness,
you break our hearts in a particular way
you take our house to hell

Son of evil, you must die
you should disappear forever and never in life
should we see you back in our gorgeous home,
so our children will have a longer future