On the Corner of Misery and Paradise

Of course I miss the beach,

echoed my mind.

I miss the darkness of LA’s night, soulful lost in the rushing roaring rampage of starless black sky who cradles one million faces lit by neon glow like visible loneliness. The beach held my sorrows, her constancy could wash my body in ocean tears, it was only me out there, surfing in her embrace,

in the velvet black water, black air, windswept solitary night where horizon melds with the mountains into which the sea melts,

despite the lonesome hours passed heartaching under blazing rays, nostalgia begins to form a callous over the void and fear that consumed those days and now I see her streets as beautiful, as I never would when my pulsing feet would drag across them waiting for time to accelerate

On the corner of Misery and Paradise, I chose bitterly to cry

eternally waiting at dusk bus stops, alone woman Venice night.

glass stores and garage doors, bringing pizza to soft hands and

warm windows on vacation and pushing on deep into the hours

of night so late they contain every mystery and silence that is held

between our ribs.

our fingertips touching dawn, we would sleep until dusk

so if sun blessed our skin it would feel more like a burn…

I was wrong, the city loved me all along

her time has yet to come,

but her vastness reminds me to be lonely

so I will only pass through

her hills and her valleys…


I like you when you are silent, for it’s as though you were absent…(Poema XV, Pablo Neruda)

I translated a famous Pablo Neruda poem from Spanish to English. Not so original, but whatever, I love this poem, and I translated it, I’ve never read an English version so after posting I’ll go see how it’s really translated in English 😛

Traduci este poema famoso de Pablo Neruda. No es muy original, pero bueno, me encanta este poema, y lo traduci, nunca he leido una version en ingles…asi que despues de publicarlo ire a ver como de verdad se lo traduce. 😉

Poema XV

I like you when you are silent, for it’s as though you’re absent.

and you hear me from afar, and my voice doesn’t touch you.

It seems as though your eyes had flown

and it seems as though a kiss sealed your mouth.

Since all things are filled with my soul,

you emerge from the things, full of my soul.

Butterfly of dreams, you seem like my soul,

you seem like the word “melancholy”.

I like you when you’re quiet, for it’s as though you are distant.

and it’s as though you were moaning, butterfly in murmurs.

And you hear me from afar, and my voice doesn’t reach me:

let me keep quiet in your silence.

Let me speak to you also in your silence

clear like a lamp, simple like a ring.

You are like the night, quiet and starry.

Your silence is that of a star, so distant and natural.

I like you when you’re quiet, for it’s as though you’re absent.

Far off and painful as though you had died.

Once word then, one smile are enough

And I am happy, happy that it is not true.


The way his eyelids fold above his eyes when he glances upwards.

A radio station I’d only heard online, blasting in a clothing shop

where I traded $20 for 200 pesos.

The first taste of cold Fernet and coke, with ice.

Standing to wait in the street, instead of the sidewalk.

Hearing “feliz navidad” as I buy 2 liters of water for a sweltering day.

Walking on the handprint of Maradona, as though I were in a Hollywood

one million times more personally meaningful.

Every shower freezing, like a baptism each time.

Crepes of caramel and the blackest beer in the house,

lying sick in my bunk, next to a future lifelong friend

who offered me a walk on the beach,

but I was leaving that day.

last night, ultimately alone, Mendoza,

empanadas, spaghetti, too much, never enough

of that restaurant with the flag in the window.

the chico in the plaza playing mad guitar with his

girlfriend watching proudly on the bricks.

no shame anywhere, and personal sadness

only under a thick layer of empathetical radiance.

our last moments in each other’s presence,

spent in pointed silence.

regret for not loving you sooner,

passionate nerves vibrating for the future.

My small green silk journal from abuela.

the chair he pulled out for me

salsa I pretended to dance,

wondering if he was intentionally edging

so close to my mouth.

the City at dawn, garage doors over each shop,

-except the Farmacia-

the cigarette between his lips,

no fingers used to keep in place,

instead interlaced with mine,

despite my numb.

Chinese food and flan,

dinner on the hostel’s bench by his side,

why didn’t I kiss him in the shower

upstairs, while everyone ate?

the hostel worker who “waved good-bye”

to his return plane to Mexico, D.F.

the New York man, searching for his “latin lover”

no Spanish in his yankee vocabulary,

curing a hangover with a mar-gar-it-ah,


the taxi driver who took me to my return airport,

promised me “nada es imposible”.

demasiados adioses.

the stars of Santiago city lights shimmering

along with my tears, crying together in solemnity

as Soda Stereo filled my ears,

knowing I had not meant to leave.