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Poem

Fernando Linero

Notes for my Autobiography

I was born in Santa Marta on October 4, 1957.
I have a wife, two children whom I watch growing, and a dog.
I am not bound to anything in particular.
Of the 510,101,000 square kilometers,
the area of the Earth,
not a single kilometer is mine.
My only worry
is perhaps truly loving.
Perhaps burning with the one I love.
I believe in a dialogue with light,
in a dialogue with the Earth,
to exalt the senses.
I began to write poetry at the age of 15.
I think it cures us of a certain disillusion,
of a certain melancholy,
and it allows us, although fleetingly,
to recover things lost:
it helps us to understand a little
the sense of what is properly human.
I like the sea, books,
marijuana, strong liquor.
I like to recall my friends.
I like music, night, roads.
I have crossed my fingers and taken a deep breath.
I have shared with the sunsets
the glory of being nothing.
At my age in the struggle
to get I don’t know where,
I have never envied anyone.
Only the air knows the end of the way.
Very deep in me I keep the hope
that death is no more than a mirage.

Apuntes para una biografía

Apuntes para una biografía

Nací en Santa Marta el 4 de Octubre de 1957.
Tengo mujer, dos hijos que veo crecer y un perro.
No estoy atado a nada en particular.
De los 510.101.000. kilómetros cuadrados
que tiene la tierra de extensión
ni un sólo metro es mío.
Mi única preocupación
es acaso la de amar verdaderamente.
Acaso la de arder con aquello que amo.
Creo en el diálogo con la luz,
el diálogo con la tierra,
para exaltación de los sentidos.
Desde los 15 años escribo poesía.
Creo que ella cura de cierto desencanto
de cierta melancolía,
permite así sea fugázmente
recuperar cosas perdidas.
Ayuda a comprender en algo
el sentido de lo humano.
Me gustan el mar, los libros,
la marihuana, las bebidas fuertes.
Me gusta recordar a los amigos.
Me gustan la música , la noche, los caminos.
He cruzado los dedos y respirado hondo.
He compartido con el ocaso
la gloria de no ser nada.
A mis años en esta lucha
por llegar yo no sé adonde
nunca he sentido envidia de nadie.
Solo el aire sabe del final de la ruta.
En lo profundo de mí guardo la esperanza
de que la muerte no sea más que un espejismo.
Close

Notes for my Autobiography

I was born in Santa Marta on October 4, 1957.
I have a wife, two children whom I watch growing, and a dog.
I am not bound to anything in particular.
Of the 510,101,000 square kilometers,
the area of the Earth,
not a single kilometer is mine.
My only worry
is perhaps truly loving.
Perhaps burning with the one I love.
I believe in a dialogue with light,
in a dialogue with the Earth,
to exalt the senses.
I began to write poetry at the age of 15.
I think it cures us of a certain disillusion,
of a certain melancholy,
and it allows us, although fleetingly,
to recover things lost:
it helps us to understand a little
the sense of what is properly human.
I like the sea, books,
marijuana, strong liquor.
I like to recall my friends.
I like music, night, roads.
I have crossed my fingers and taken a deep breath.
I have shared with the sunsets
the glory of being nothing.
At my age in the struggle
to get I don’t know where,
I have never envied anyone.
Only the air knows the end of the way.
Very deep in me I keep the hope
that death is no more than a mirage.

Notes for my Autobiography

I was born in Santa Marta on October 4, 1957.
I have a wife, two children whom I watch growing, and a dog.
I am not bound to anything in particular.
Of the 510,101,000 square kilometers,
the area of the Earth,
not a single kilometer is mine.
My only worry
is perhaps truly loving.
Perhaps burning with the one I love.
I believe in a dialogue with light,
in a dialogue with the Earth,
to exalt the senses.
I began to write poetry at the age of 15.
I think it cures us of a certain disillusion,
of a certain melancholy,
and it allows us, although fleetingly,
to recover things lost:
it helps us to understand a little
the sense of what is properly human.
I like the sea, books,
marijuana, strong liquor.
I like to recall my friends.
I like music, night, roads.
I have crossed my fingers and taken a deep breath.
I have shared with the sunsets
the glory of being nothing.
At my age in the struggle
to get I don’t know where,
I have never envied anyone.
Only the air knows the end of the way.
Very deep in me I keep the hope
that death is no more than a mirage.
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