Jose Pablo Juarez
Implosion
I wish the world could implode,
dragging memories to a blind spot,
so that a deep impact on myself
would erase everything left on Earth,
obliterating the memories of people,
and the pain that imprisons you.
An implosion of the world,
or just my world,
taking away my kisses, steps, and footprints.
Don’t cry if, when my kisses are gone,
the pain ceases.
An implosion that leaves no void of absence,
unlike an explosion.
Implode, and the being returns to itself,
filling every gap
with every fragment.
I want to implode from you,
dragging my darkness and thorns
into an endless return.
Every fragment of my being
returning to itself,
until I become
nothing again.
Walls
Everything was,
and suddenly it wasn’t.
All those who left,
everything was
with the look of ruins,
soulless constructions.
Vague memories that leave nothing behind.
That’s how the dead are:
they leave and take nothing with them,
they leave and leave nothing behind.
New dreams arrive
that gather on the walls,
clinging to them so tightly
as if life were eternal.
But in the end, their soul
seems to fade from the wall just the same.
Neither rain nor time leaves anything
that gathers on the walls.
Everyone leaves and takes nothing with them.
In the end, only walls eaten away by time,
by the weight of a silence
that no longer says anything.
Jose Pablo Juarez, poet, short story writer and Mexican translator, his poems have been published in more than 40 international anthologies.
In 2018 he won the naji naaman ( libano ) award
for his book \”from your lips I will resurrect\” in 2019 he receives the honoris cause doctorate from the international forum of creativity and humanity of the kingdom of Morocco
