Darkness of a time already lost
illuminate the anguished souls
it is the long night of winter,
hours lost among broken steps

A blurred image rises tenaciously
makes me look back to another time,
although it is near, it is already a memory
would it be November, October? I do not remember
The dazzling knife of doubt
the cruel bullet of fears
wander silently on the gray beaches
in front of an afternoon that has left me alone

There are so many kisses that I don't remember any of them,
there are so many names that nothing remains,
the breeze of time is passing by
the humidity of yesterday has become alive

The afternoon looks slow, sad and pensive,
without glories of war, without haughty voices
my joy slowly falls asleep, it passes through the leaves thoughtfully.
there is an air of farewell and gloom,
time moves forward without looking back,
we all remain waiting for nothing,
without knowing each other although we have smiled at each other so many times.

SILUETA DE HOMBRE SOLITARIO

Tinieblas de un tiempo ya perdido
alumbran las almas angustiadas
es la noche larga del invierno,
horas perdidas entre pasos rotos

Se yergue tenaz una imagen borrosa
me hace volver la mirada hacia otro tiempo,
aunque sea cercano ya es recuerdo
seria noviembre, octubre? No recuerdo
El cuchillo deslumbrante de la duda
la bala cruel de los temores
vagan silentes en las playas grises
frente a una tarde que me ha dejado solo

Son tantos besos que no recuerdo a ninguno,
son tantos nombres que ya nada queda,
la brisa del tiempo va pasando
la humedad del ayer se ha hecho viva
.
La tarde luce lenta, triste y pensativa,
sin glorias de guerra, sin voces altivas
mi alegría se adormece lenta, se pasa por las hojas pensativa
hay un aire de adiós y de penumbras,
el tiempo avanza sin mirar atrás,
nos quedamos todos en espera de nada,
sin conocernos aunque tantas veces nos hemos sonreído

The illustrations for this poem have been created by the artist digitally with the PHOTOSHOP program and have not been published on any other digital platform.

My poetry is not based on any rule, in fact I have never studied forms of poetic expression, I only express my feelings, my experience and what I see and in my daily walk, I relate what I write with my pictorial work and I think that life without creation is a very simple life, art in all its expressions is a form of encouragement, a food for the soul every day.

Antonio Evies, Venezuelan painter, sculptor, writer, poet and crypto-artist, university professor, researcher of new plastic languages and advisor to the project. Art for all.

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