jueves, 1 de marzo de 2018

ARRIBA Y ABAJO


Arriba la lluvia silenciosa y abajo el estruendo de un corazón caliente bajo un nórdico porque la nórdica duerme. Los tirabuzones en la almohada ajenos a mi alma atribulada. A poniente misteriosos relámpagos y a levante, más que me pese, la oscuridad más absoluta. La lluvia, en cualquier caso, civiliza mi espíritu.  Pero esta madrugada, en la que el líquido elemento corre desbocado en mi pueblo mediterráneo,  aullaría como un lobo para saber si estoy solo en el mundo. Escucho gemidos y lamentos de un pretérito que se repite cada noche. Una voz  espectral parece decirme que me condenaron al olvido para encadenarse a su triste soledad.

Equivoqué el natalicio porque en este tiempo, desgraciadamente, el honor y el asaltar castillos no están de moda. Erré al pensar que los legajos y pergaminos leídos en silencio me salvarían de aquellos que prefieren morir en vida. Patiné esperando poder entablar un diálogo pero todo, absolutamente todo, es un juicio ad hominem cuando mis opiniones se deslizan por el peligroso desfiladero de las ideas que divergen. Pienso, luego ofendo. Gracias  Forges.

Me levanto a escribir unas líneas y, al leerlas como siempre, mi moral se acuesta entre dudas lacerantes: ¿Amaneceré mañana con la rabia de Quevedo o con el amor de Lope de Vega? ¿Abrazaré la canción báquica de Espronceda mientras surco los océanos del tiempo señoreando mi propia bandera? ¿Es un barco fantasma lo que veo en la lontananza o la celestial pirotecnia me juega una mala pasada? ¿Tomaré la pluma como una espada para acometer a mis supuestos enemigos, o usaré “el santo cuchillo que tengo entre las piernas para calmar su sed y la mía? Dudas brumosas. Incertidumbres hirientes que alcanzan de lleno el ánima de este humilde escribiente.

La lluvia sigue cayendo inmisericorde. Los barquitos pesqueros amarrados a puerto  sin poder ganarse el sustento y los agricultores dando gracias al cielo. Nunca llueve a gusto de todos pero ahora todos coinciden, y hacerlo en estas tierras es un acto milagroso: los persistentes chubascos son una bendición divina. Pues que siga la lluvia; ella arriba, yo abajo y el mundo al carajo.

Sergio Calle Llorens

4 comentarios:

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    Over the course of several years many research teams have entered the Shimmer, never to return (mostly). Surely, by now they'd have nuked it? But no, they do exactly the same thing again with a new team. watch the devils candy online free hd


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