Solitude

"I have such a crowded solitude

so full of nostalgia

and faces of you

of goodbyes from long ago

and welcomed kisses

of first changes

and last carts.

I have such a crowded solitude

that I can organize it

like I would a parade

by colours

by sizes

and promises

by age

by touch and by flavor.

Without a surplus tremor

I embrace your absences

which assist and help me

with my face of you.

I am full of shadows

of nights and desires

of laughter and

of some curse

My guests come visit

they visit me like dreams

with their new resentments

their lack of candor

I hide a broom

behind the door

because I want to be alone

with my face of you.

But my face of you

looks the other way

with its loving eyes

that don't love anymore

like groceries

looking for their hunger

they look and look and

extinguish my journey.

The walls go away

only the night is left

the melancholy goes

there is nothing left.

Now my face of you

closes its yes

and it is such a desolated

solitude".

"Face of you", by Mario Benedetti

First of all, I must apologize for the translation, I know it is not one of my best, but the way the poem is written makes it very hard to translate to English (it really says "face of you", instead of "your face" or something else). This is one of my favorite poems. I finished the painting and later realized (as it often happens to me for some reason) what it was about. Also, Benedetti died on May 17th, 2009, so I think this is my way of remembering him...

The concrete shell

"Or calling your room on a concrete shell

Fighting all alone, with yourself, with yourself
And you just wanna feel like a coin that's been tossed
In a wishing well, a wishing well
A wishing well, a wishing well
Well you're tossed in the air
And you fell and you fell
Through the dark blue waters
Where you cast your spell
Like you were just a wish that could turn out well

So you stand on the corner
Where the angels sit
And you think to yourself,
"This is it, this is it
This is all that I have
All I can stand
Is this air in my lungs
And this coin in my hand"
That you tossed in the air
And I fell, and I fell
All the way to the bottom
Of the well, of the well
Like those soft little secrets
That you tell, that you tell
To yourself, when you think
No one's listening to, well"

From the song "Wishing Well", by The Airborne Toxic Event