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…

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.

When tomorrow comes

Baby can you see?
The stars are almost unseen
Come here…
Let me sing you a song
Of back in the day…
Twinkle, twinkle little star…

But momma,
What’s a twinkling star?

They are like lights in the sky.
We have changed them
For lights on the streets…

Baby, can you hear?
The movements and honks
Of the cars
No more serenade
From crickets in the night.

What are crickets momma?

Hmm? They were jumpy little fellows.
You see, even as small as they were
they had long and thin legs.
And boooy if they sang with them!
As if breathing for dear life.

Baby, can you smell?

The green stuff from over there?

Yes, the residual smell
From those manufactures…
There was a time
When the fragrance of gardenias
Was in the air.

What are gar, gard, garnas?

Gar-de-nias, they were flowers
White as snow
So fragile to this soil
They smelled sweet
Unlike this rusty metal floor.

Baby, see these seeds?
They are my last hope.
Promise me,
If some day we find a good soil
Let’s settle there
And see them grow.

Momma, can these pebbles grow?

Yes, if you take care of them
They need a good soil
They need water and sun
They are our last hope.

So promise me…
Even if you walk alone
If you see a good soil
Give these little seeds
A chance to fulfill their role.

Why alone momma?

Ah, well, just like the wind,
It comes from nothing
And goes without stopping.
It gives a twirl here and there
And also a light breeze
To whoever is there.
That’s how our fleeting life is.

Aww, don’t be sad baby
I’m here
And will always be here
In this little heart
And in this little mind.

You see,
It doesn’t matter whether
It’s the old days or today.
As long as there is love
We can find a new way…

Nameless love

You are bound to be free
and that is how
I will let you be
This silence is my love.
This smile is my farewell.
I can not say
You are my first love
Yet you are the one
That hurt the most.
The moon is clear tonight
The waves are ready
To sail away.
The treasures are left
Forever to be lost
And the wind
Has set its course.
Pretty sure you will
Set foot in many ports
As for mine
Is for ever closed.
Goodbye
My nameless love.

The forgotten letter

I still remember when my dad got a hold
Of my third love letter. He decided to encrust it on a piece of wood.
Of course the deed didn’t end there, to embellish it, he wrote,”Hija de tigre, pintito.” Which is a proverb that simply means “The daughter is like her mother” of course, he meant it playfully. 
There is a saying in english that means the same with different words.
” the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

On top of that, there were little flowers around it and a small heart on the bottom. I was so embarrassed and didn’t understand the love that my dad put into making that piece of art.
I was barely six, so if you see horrors in my grammar and spelling, you can imagine how it was back then (terrible).
Now… back then, in the middle of our home, dad had a small canteen. There were sculptures all around, from a David to a Moses, he also had some wooden sculptures, most of the wooden ones were either from animals or people from different ethnic groups in Mexico; and of course, just entering the place, that maybe 20-year-old-round piece of wood was hung for everybody to see. He was so proud of it that if people didn’t pay attention to it, he would tell them about it. Of course, at those same moments my embarrassment skyrocketed. 

Now days I laugh about it, but back then it was a thorn piercing my ego. I used to believe in the element spirits, I still do, but back then it was like a law. Somehow, I believed that by throwing my love letter to the ground in front of my house, the wind spirit would use its wind to take it to my beloved one. I do wonder who actually got to see those two letters before the third one. This third one was written on a memo pink paper with my mom’s business logo. I barely finished it, but my mom called me and I forgot it in my dad’s canteen; Hence the all the dilemma afterwards.

The last time I got to see my dad and was actually able to talk to him, I asked him why did he do that with the letter?
He started smiling and said, “It was the first time I saw you write a sentence. It made me proud.” I didn’t get it back then, I guess at 15 years old, one doesn’t understand the deep meaning of things.
However, now days, whenever I remember that forgotten letter, it fills my heart with joy and makes me cry.

Queen of the jungle

Have you ever driven with four kids? Just to give you an idea
As soon as I start driving, the two-year old starts crying
“Please, teta, teeetaaa!” Somehow I grab the backpack from the backseat
Prepare the bottle while driving with my knee
Yes my knee, and pass it to him stretching my arm to the back.

“Mom! Oh no! I’m dying!”  My sixteen year old screams.
Of course, he means in the game, IN THE GAME!
Then again, by inertia, I turned my head as he leans
He is next to me playing again
“Easy there,” I tell myself, breathe 
Reasons, there’s too many, starting with four.
Soon after, there’s a scream from the backseat

“Dude, chill,” my seven-year old tells my 4-year-old
And he keeps screaming for God knows what 
Yet my seven-year old covers his ears and yells “mom, tell him to stop!”

“Breathe”, I tell myself again while turning off the music
Listen boys, if you all don’t stop it now
Even your dinner will go to the sink
So, do you think they listened? Of course not!
Screaming and yelling, of course my two-year old after finishing his bottle joins the chorus
Inspiring enough to think that this is a jungle. Monkeys, exotic bird and even cicadas
Nothing out of the ordinary… “Breathe,” and finally an idea popped up.
“Guys if you keep at it, there won’t be any nintendo switch for the weekend.”
Silence… Finally no buzzing, no humming nor chirping, for how long? Who knows? let’s enjoy it while it lasts.

Food for the soul

As much as I thought
There were no such words
That came to my thoughts
When we talk about food.

Is not that I don’t enjoy
The delights of eating
It’s the preparing
And then the cleaning.

So let’s change it a bit
Food for the soul
There’s many things
Some are loud
Some are zens
And humor is among them.

There is dancing
which let’s the body sweat
With the sweating
and the moving
At least I forget
What needs to be forgotten.

And with each brush
A feeling is left behind
Such is a feat
That the painting
Becomes alive.

Of course
with each word
Our expressions
Give an illusion
Of a new world.

And there are much more
At least that I know
But for now
Let’s say this is my song
The food for the soul.

Arcana, The Story Behind

In the depths of despair

Thy flame becomes fair

And thy child with wings

Becomes a mortal in earth

But the knowledge of self

That is, within retained.

Once sixty lashes proceed

And the flame becomes complete

Then the one with seventy names

And the healer will once again

In heaven remain

As the prince of the world,

And as the protector of the unborn.

For each lash

10 years have passed

Six wings became three pairs

One shall be only in dreams

In the world, the boy shall exist

As for the last pair of wings

Only true love will know where it is.

Nonetheless till the girl appears

Ageless will be, the ancient of days

Moving from place to place

As for the twin         

The same path shall be seen

The one with the knowledge

In earth shall strive

As for the one in dreams

Till she appears

His memory in darkness shall remain.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: