0162_Poesía_Introspectiva del paisaje – Ari Jonathan García

POESÍA/No. 162

Introspectiva del paisaje

Ari Jonathan García González

Escuela Normal de Maestros, Educadoras y Normal Superior Justo Sierra

                                                                        Nube

                                                                        Gorda
                                                                        Pesada camaleona
                                                                        Convulsa
                                                                        Ah
                                                                        Te desparramas
                                                                        Tu lengua
                                                                        ya es el río.

Hierba

Ejército
de la quietud
¿A qué hora
tu guerra?
No te agites
No pierdas
tu color
Algún día
dejaremos
de caminar.

                                                                        Mineral

                                                                        Extraño ser
                                                                        te multiplicó
                                                                        para el ultraje
                                                                        ¿Él mismo
                                                                        te habrá escondido?
                                                                        ¿O fue otro
                                                                        el que te hizo
                                                                        vivo
                                                                        y
                                                                        perdible
                                                                        entre
                                                                        la tierra?

¿Cuándo
despiertas?
Te pareces
en su
tranquilidad
a tu
lenta
y
callada
sombra.

                                                                        Arcoiris

                                                                        Reflejo
                                                                        Deslíate
                                                                        Echa al
                                                                        suelo
                                                                        tus colores
                                                                        En nuestros
                                                                        pasos
                                                                        los caminos
                                                                        serán distintos.

Estrella

Botón de luz
Apretado y tímido
Tiemblas
ante
la oscuridad
que ni
te toca. 

Aurora

¿Por qué te
derramas?
altísima leche
que se refleja
en prismas flotantes
Eres la bebida
en que
nuestro escarnio
se consume
Ni el nombre
ni el cuerpo
serán capaces
de alcanzarte. 

Escenario dulce
de
los insectos
¿Marchitar?
Los alados
ya vienen
a
llevarse
tu infancia
entre las patas. 

                                                                        Cascada

                                                                        Erudita
                                                                        Incontenible golpe
                                                                        de luz
                                                                        rayos de agua
                                                                        Bien dices
                                                                        por qué
                                                                        no habitan
                                                                        ballenas en el paso
                                                                        de tu espalda
                                                                        ¿Ya sabes si
                                                                        en la curva
                                                                        de la caída
                                                                        naces
                                                                        para morir en
                                                                        el estrépito
                                                                        del río
                                                                        O al revés?

Atropella
calmado
Aún quedan
vírgenes
espacios
celestes. 

                                                                        Árbol

                                                                        Cabezón
                                                                        Se te anidan
                                                                        ideas
                                                                        Apenas
                                                                        te descuidas
                                                                        escapan volando
                                                                        Y tú ni brincas.

Estás cambiando
siempre
bajo el paisaje
¿Quién
te atiende?
¿Será que
te pareces
tanto a ti?

                                                                        Fruta

                                                                        Madura
                                                                        Ya tienes
                                                                        los pies
                                                                        en la tierra.

Luna

Ay blanca
Vanidosa
En tu lecho
yaces
Ahogada
Aún
te reflejas
en la noche
que es
tu espejo.

                                                                        Sol

                                                                        Viejo gritón
                                                                        Pura lumbre
                                                                        te sale
                                                                        de
                                                                        la boca
                                                                        Tus órdenes
                                                                        me
                                                                        han dejado
                                                                        ciego.

Pequeño
Y tan anciano
¿Algún día
habrás de morir?
¿O te acumularás
hasta
que
el
último
se
disuelva?

                                                                        Hoja

                                                                        Ligera
                                                                        Caíste
                                                                        desde tu
                                                                        más alto
                                                                        y único
                                                                        sueño.

Paisaje

Ay recinto
Gran aula de La
dialéctica vegetal
Sería el colmo
que supieras
de gramática
que contaminación
es sustantivo
y
se acentúa. 

                                                                        Montaña

                                                                        Acento
                                                                        En tu pecho
                                                                        la tierra
                                                                        se pronuncia
                                                                        aguda
                                                                        Y unos dicen
                                                                        que ocultas
                                                                        grávidos
                                                                        espacios.

Tu prisa
me
agobia
¿Te
urge regresar?