Saturday, August 1, 2020



Mount Sion

In the churchyard shadow
sadness olive groves of mount sion
everything is still memory groove crack
where it sprouts in silence
the sore earth a path barely reverberates
Among memories that murmur
his pale tessitura
Towards a city that slow
Dawn and shelter
under the scent of olive trees

Away from the night

For taby
In memoriam

You go round invisible roads,
the wind is the homeland that crushed you with its wings of indulgence,
air reefs for the sea that crashes its lament
on the night of your dream.

Gravita fog, its glow against your face,
the glass where you glimpse the bottom of yesterday,
the remains of a time without time in the trembling of your visions.

What walls knock down your voice in the stealth of the night?

That distance that falls like a curtain between emptiness and memory
burning of the days.

What emissary light would you summon from the insomniac garden, under the stones
that protect the color of the eneidas?

Like rumor of fable,
rising flame in the desert doorway,
you look in a smoke mirror
and you are the smoke itself that burns on the other side of the huge tunnel;
vertigo flavored with pale tide,
silent water where you anchored the tree of your mysterious shadow.

You ask at dawn to tear its light
where loneliness is the customary rite
under the dust of the centuries,
you drink your cup of fear under the salt of the omens,
the most hidden room in the warp that machine destiny.

And you came to melt in the silence little by little,
to be the blade that hits indifferently,
a body of mist submerged in its Orion of dry chill,
with your morning wrapped in still bubble,
last echo of passing sand.

The season of nostalgia weighs on you,
the gray dementia of the storm rotting in the dark mouth of the earth.

Who do you cry for this abyss?

Mutilated song of crows that pierce the deep sky.


The dawn extends
its warm and silky transparency,
the moisture is filtered
through the pores of the earth.

Flowers, leaves and crusts
lacerate the ethereal
course of the days,
in the high breeze dusts fly
compressed memories and pollen,
mosses and lichens disrupt
their velvety silence.

Swarm offish routines
in an everlasting void.

From the weariness of those furry ivies
my eyes are infinite exiles
and thoughts burst like mauve.

Beyond the sharp smell of musk
permeates the air
and melts the resinous aroma of trees
and orange of the evening,
where the birds’ songs are scattered
and experiences diluted,
where ethereal dreams mature
and the absences sigh,
there we will return to the beginning.

In its intense indigo,
the night covers desires
of transient chimeras,
in the slow and transfigured step
of what’s always the same
we dissolve into intangible sequences.
there where absences gleam
we’ll go back to the beginning.


Lost ripple
in the glance,
inscriptions of the invisible
fall to the bottom of the dream,
badges from another time.

Fleeting wings dance away
among the branches,
every move
evaporates at the instant bonfire.

From afar the rumor of our steps
besieges the pond and its jade stillness.

Untouched blackness of shadows.

A last silent walks burning the darkness

Quartz of light
crossing a splendor of clouds,
reverberates in silent waters.

The Deep Sky
it’s an impassive crow’s song.

To dream
dissolved light:


The night goes through us
in the deepest,
avid snake that penetrates
the cleft of dreams.

We pretend to sleep
as impenetrable
crystal spheres

The earth does not comfort
just throw off its dark and rough

wind towers

Glass Road

Memorable birds
in grottoes of silences
and paths traced in time.

Still raining outside
in the dark soul of the jungles,
in the forgotten spirit basin:
island of torn solitudes

on the bare feet of the beggar,
in the yards of that house
packed with ruined objects.

The fine moisture dissipates the pores
barely breathable from things,
of experiences and words ever drawn
on stones and silenced logs.

Flood of thoughts that clutter my mind,
cold shadows slide in shallow stillness of the dawn.


Thick lethargy the afternoon outbreak,
bright opening consumes
the pulsation of life itself.

I overflow,
I spill in the undeniable
breaking of the moment.

Slightness of time in time.
And your voice
and your presence is rain.
Endless cliff of rhythms.

Butterfly wings:
flower over the waters of the pond,
clouds, leafless puffs,
birds that migrate cycles.

And where do I go? And you?
Since eternity names flutter
to strips of oblivion.
And your light kisses they fork the dawn,
your love in the crack
deeper of my thinking
doves in the dream, inside bell towers,
among the hidden branches of the gloom.
Mineral tear,
dark memory sore.


MARLENE PASINI: She was born in Toluca, Mexico. She is a Communicologist, Writer and editor, Poet, Transpersonal Psychotherapist, Cultural Ambassador, Life Coach and Coach in Transpersonal Education, Coach in Mindfulness and Meditation, Master in Literature, Diploma in History, Diploma in Egyptology and Hieroglyphs. Alternative Medicine Specialist. Cultural Ambassador of Mexico City by the Latin American Association of Poets, Writers and Artists. She is Specialist in Ancestral Wisdom, Comparative Religions and Mysticism. He has published seven books of poetry, two essays, two novels and two personal development books. Author Best-sellers. She won two awards for her poems, one in the State of Mexico and another one in Buenos Aires Argentina. In 2018 she obtained the Diamond Star distinction for her career in Letters by the International Circle of Journalists. She won the Ibero-American Prize for Literature by the Leadership Today Foundation in April 2019. And finally she obtained the Recognition to Mexican Letters by the Academy of Literature and Poetry, as well as by Houses of the Poet Association, in July 2019. Recognition in Moroco and  Egypt for his contribution to culture in the world.

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