"Small World" and "Sin Soñar / Without Dreaming"

by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Small World

In my hand
a fistful of dirt,
a small world
with tiny people,
 
I spotted
my minuscule twin,
and I blew
the dirt off, my twin
 
included,
the small world gone,
the people,
too, and I washed
 
my hands clean.
World destroyer
is the phrase
I heard the most.

 

 

Without Dreaming

I slept without dreaming.
I lived without breathing.
 
I drank pure air.
I walked without moving.
 
The starless nights.
The wingless bees.
 
I lied without words.
I stole without a crime.
 
I ached without a wound.
I cried without pain.
 
I ate invisible bread.
I perspired without heat.

Sin Soñar

Dormía sin soñar.
Vivía sin respirar.
 
Bebía puro aire.
Caminaba sin andar.
 
La noche sin estrellas.
La abeja sin alas.
 
Mentía sin palabras.
Robaba sin delito.
 
Ardía sin herida.
Lloraba sin dolor.
 
Comía pan invisble.
Sudaba sin calor.

 

 

Born in Mexico, Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal resides in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Nerve Cowboy, and Yellow Mama Webzine. Luis recommends St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.

 

Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Monday, March 9, 2020 - 22:37