Behind This Door

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

Behind this door
I saw a being mythical to me
With the most beautiful eyes
Baby blue
Almost blurred.

Behind this door
I felt inexplicable feelings.
Curiosity as I held this knob
Stilly I briefly opened the door
Afraid of alerting that being.
Her
Who had to see her son
As her brother.
Her
That I almost know nothing about.

Just like a legend
Unbelievable until you see.
Hidden behind this door
Afraid to scare the fairy away
Thanks to that existence
I’m able to breathe
Yet I’m nonexistent in her life.

I’m only twelve
Why?
Why is it hard to understand?
I’ve been given a great chance
To at least see her
From afar
Yet why am I so greedy…

Behind this door
I met my other self
This envious being
Of those close to her
Of those who can hug her
Of those who can be patted by her
Of those who can be praised by her
Of those who can sit next to her.

Envy
Since I don’t share any traits with her.
She’s like a royal pearl
I’m but chocolate milk.
Her wide baby blue eyes
Against my slanted hazy eyes.

Nothing seems to link me to her
That beautiful being
Only this invisible red thing
That flows in my being.

Behind this door
I was astonished
To the point of crying
I felt the hidden longing
At least a warm hug
At least to be acknowledged
At least to feel my existence.
At least…

That was my first and last
Encounter with my grandmother
Behind this door
Quietly admiring her
That fairy that can not see
But only hear
That fairy
That never knew my existence
Yet she is engraved in mine…

Words From Within

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

I wouldn’t say
It’s a poem per say
It’s an out cry
From inside
Bleeding lines
Looking for a healing tonic
To induce an unfinished scar
While praying this pain
Is but another past
Another world
I can cast aside
Another reality
Written in paper
With this humble hand
Deliberating
If I should also
give it breath
Or just burn it
As if a secret mission
Never to be known.

Raw honey
That smoothens
My rough throat
Untying this knot
Giving reign
To this voice
To this pen
To this written page.

Glass like tears
Melted
Purified water
To be drank again
And again
Until others knots
Are untied as well.

Raw words
Not beautified
Just outlined
A beginning to an end
And end to begin
That is all…

Dragoness

By Rosalva Ruiz SuperNova

There is a legend
That only a few know
About this mysterious woman
Who’s face is still unknown
Yet her feats
Are recorded
In the Odd family scroll. 

A chivera from la frontera
Who passed from electronics
Food 
And some other tonteras. 

The one and only wedding aide
Who didn’t give access
To this celebrity fave
For the simple reason
That Fito Olivares was not written
In that page
Of course
Who would have known
That Rodolfo Olivares
Was his real name
A VIP guest
At least
that’s what’s written there. 

And well the list goes on
Array with beats
And souls that begin to flow.
That was her last job as such
That is for sure. 

Now let’s not forget
Of the many recorded
Falls from filming
“The one in a lifetime events”
Such as the time of that wedding
Where the bride’s arm
Suddenly arose
Trying to hold
something in the air
Their lips
As well as their eyes
Saying “Oh no!”
Then a white ceiling
Of the church
Came into view… 

This other time
Where instead of a white ceiling
It was the face of Jesus
With his arms wide open
Kind of saying pobrecita
Ahi va de nuevo otra caida… 

But
Fret not
That gave her the best idea
Pictures taken from the floor
She’s got quite a few
Of those.
The kiss in the air
From the groom and his bride
The funny faces from friends
And quinceañeras
Enjoying their time. 

The groom leaning
The dazed eyes
Anticipating a love song
And the fallen bow
Giving the perfect
Memory for years to come. 

While in the cloud
Makes one remember
That this woman
Is a dragoness in disguise
When the time comes by.
A whisperer of love
When the need is more.
A clown in the cloud
When the kids are around.
And last but not least
A cast speller
In an invisible town
When she holds
Her feathered pen
And writes in the air.

Roots

Roots are engraved in my veins
It’s not the culture
It’s the warmth that emanates from it.


It’s the soft song
That makes you dance along.

It’s the perfect amount of spice
That gives us that savory bite.

Like that piece of heaven
You found in a far away land
And with just that memory
Makes a watery mouth.

One can even taste

the smell in the air
From that place
Transporting you to another time
To  a world
That only one knows.

From time to time
There may be some bitter drinks
On the way.

Even a hangover the next day
Yet our roots are stronger
That even with any storm
Our roses will flourish.

This…
This is my family
This is my culture
These are my roots.

Raíces

Raíces están grabadas en mis venas
No es la cultura
Es el calor que emana de ella.

Es esa suave canción
Que te hace bailar a su ritmo.

Es la cantidad perfecta de especias
De esa suculenta comida.

Es ese pedazo de cielo
Que encontraste en algún lugar lejano
Y que…
Con tan solo recordarlo
Se te hace agua la boca.

Inclusive…
Hasta puedes sentir
el aroma del lugar
Transportandote a otros tiempos
A un mundo
donde solo uno conoce.

Podrán haber tragos amargos
De vez en cuando
Tal vez…
La cruda al día siguiente
Mas las raíces son mas fuertes
Que las rosas florecen
Aun despues de tempestades.

Así… así es mi familia
Así es mi cultura
Así mis raíces..

End of year 2020

By Rosalva Ruiz (SuperNova)

Waves of black feathers sea
Fuzzy lights on the street
Cold…
Humid and desertic
Nothing like past years
A few cars parked in restaurants
Too few for these holidays…
2020 is coming to its end
Vaccines are a trend
Starting today.

Will next year be ok?
Who knows…
Will the broken be complete again?
Can’t say…
Will the broken links be whole again?
Depends…
At very least I know for sure
This year was unexpected
It crawled under my skin
With terror
With uncertainty
My faith was shaken
Too many times
And I’m still standing
Still dreaming
Still hoping
I am still saying
Merry Christmas
And blessed New year
May God console your soul
And please stay strong.
Tomorrow will come
Tomorrow will be another day
Today will be left behind
To be displayed
In written memoirs
In history books
And above all in stories
To be told…

Diamond in the rough

This is a girl who loves to dream
She leaves behind her reality
And catches lucky stars
With her bare hands.

She awaits for her prince charming
In her dreams
However, she is the knight
That gallops in the street
In her real life.

She seems sweet in her dreams
With ribbons and pearls
Yet she has her grotesque
Character rooted in her soil.

She’s that doll
That is carefully
Sculptured by it’s artist.
And somehow
Her essence
Is brought up
By her alone.

She is just that
sparkling and precious
diamond in the rough.

Creator or Maker?

From creation to cremation
Life, the core itself
Is full of iffies
Love becomes a goal for some
Others prefer serenity in their lives

Then there’s excellency
Which some reach
With tears and despair
And for others
Is like breeze in the air
The most natural thing on earth

Then again,
there are some
That have to fend for themselves
With no studies
Just the grace of God and will.

Although
the path at the beginning
is the same
Somehow with luxuries of the mind
From the bigger generation
Or lack of thereof
Marks the boost in creativity
Of the young fellows.

Then, like a diamond in the rough
If you use whichever tool
The cut won’t be precise
The diamond would be
Of poor quality use.

Now, if you got
another good diamond
You can make the most
Exquisite cuts
The best rainbow look
Not to mention
Higher price in the market.

But let’s not forget
Those loners
Wolves
leaders
Of them all.

Which makes one wonder
Is The Creator
the maker
of it’s creation?
Or is the maker,
the creator
of it’s creation?

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