L'aura del Campo

Four short pieces

Bullets in the sky
Tuna cans spread wings to lift above the darkening day. What may come of this? This bumblebee that should not fly, but does. The buzz of air, the wobble of wheels, the rush, the lift. This silver gift slicing through clouds, glistening. Then the dive at the bitter end when the can splits opens, spits us out: herring, tuna, cod, the daily catch released upon the tarmac.

© Kåre Enga [10.agosto.2016]

La Promesa (needs major editing)

Cierre los ojos! La ciudad despierta. Qué me has ofrecido? Tranquilo la madrugada. Los callejones mudos. Ojos abiertos! Corazón quebrada. Pensamientos de lo que sea, de lo que no debe ser. Cómo parece inocente la ciudad sin gente! Los zanates no conversan. La luna no canta. Las aceras no tiene ningúna opinión. En esta vida... qué me has prometido?

© Kåre Enga [9.agosto.2016]

Flesh and Fiction

We're all fiction: our names mere labels, inadequate constrictions. They cannot contain our disparate predictions that leak beyond the frontiers of flesh we violate. Our days countdown to our rest, our death some new beginning. What tales told become more lies that don't define us. Can't confine our lives to here and now. We've climbed through those nightmares, fled with dreams to dance with the devil who dares to bind us.

© Kåre Enga [29.julio.2016] PZ, Costa Rica al camino...

Dare!

Under a cold sky the city allows no stars to show us the way. All hope blotted out. All chance to leave aborted. Within, all shivers. Hope withers when sun and moon have fled, address unknown. But the multitudes on high who listen to our prayers, could show us a way... if they dare.

© Kåre enga [28.julio.2016] PZ/MT

79,979