Con la voz fragmentada | Poesía [ES/EN]

El silencio es una herida del dolor en su desgarro. Alguien reclama deudas y despeina el rostro de otra que pretende tomar un café sin depositar lo justo. El país es un acorde con la voz fragmentada. Otra mujer mira al infinito, hay girasoles en sus piernas abiertas y teme a lo oscuro sin reconocer que tal vez son otros los que se pierden.

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_{Esta publicación fue parcialmente traducida con Google Translate.}

Silence is a wound— a tear born of pain. Someone demands payment of debts, disheveling the face of another woman who seeks to have a coffee without paying what is due. The country is a chord with a fragmented voice. Another woman gazes into the infinite; there are sunflowers upon her open legs, and she fears the darkness— failing to realize that, perhaps, it is others who are the ones getting lost.

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_{This post was partially translated using Google Translate.}