Alguien no volara esta primavera. Poema en prosa con obra de arte digital del autor [ESP / ENG]
Feliz día comunidad WOX espero que todos estén muy bien,
Presento ante ustedes otro poema, la soledad del ave frente al desértico paisaje, la obra inspirada en los pájaros de las zonas áridas, va ilustrada con un trabajo digital de mi autoría,realizado en PHOTOSHOP con 100 dpi de resolución para impresión digital
ALGUIEN NO VOLARA EN PRIMAVERA
Se quedaron en silencios los nidos ocres,
ya es tiempo de recoger los cantos, el fruto maduro cayo del árbol
y en la tierra gris todo se ha ido, las voces se han ocultado,
el niño ocre de amarillento rostro se ha ido también
la vieja choza lo espera.
Los nidos guardan callados recuerdos,
una pluma vuela en el firmamento, lejos muy lejos de las miradas,
los nidos, los testigos de la llegada de la vida,
hoy los ha raído el viento, ha sido un nuevo intento
ha sido una nueva espera que se quedo perdida.
La tarde fría llega , las hojas raídas no dan cobijo,
el plumaje cansado de vuelos, lacera la curtida piel del ave,
seguir el vuelo hacia otros rumbos,
esperar de nuevo otra esperanza,
otra esperanza que talvez no llega.
La tierra árida, inclemente...
ha dejado perdido en los caminos los últimos nidos,
el fruto ha caído y las lloviznas se han ido,
se ven las montañas lejanas y marchitas,
no hay riachuelos para la clemente sed
y un cielo tan azul que atormenta las miradas...destellos de lejanía
de marcha sin regreso.
El sol lanza sus rayos sobre las tierras solitarias,
los caminos languidecen en espera de lluvias,
el ave solitaria ve el nido silente,
esta vez no habrá pichones, ni vuelos, ni cantos.
la oración de la tarde en la voz de un anciano
retumba el silencio de este mundo gris,
el canto lejano de los pájaros oscuros ha vuelto silencio las horas tristes.
ya no hay pichón, no hay vuelos, no hay cantos.
Mi poesía, la he definido siempre como un soliloquio con los instantes de la vida, no me preocupo por técnicas, solo es una conversa, las palabras son sencillas y solo buscan expresar mi sentir, al igual que mi obra pictórica, solo es un encuentro con mi libertad. Así sera siempre
Antonio Evies, pintor, escultor, escritor, poeta y criptoartista venezolano, profesor universitario, investigador de nuevos lenguajes plásticos y asesor del proyecto: Arte para todos.
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Happy day WOX community, I hope you are all very well,
I present to you another poem, the loneliness of the bird in front of the desert landscape, the work inspired by the birds of the arid zones, is illustrated with a digital work of my authorship, made in PHOTOSHOP with 100 dpi resolution for digital printing.
SOMEONE WILL NOT FLY IN SPRING
The ochre nests fell silent,
it's time to gather the songs, the ripe fruit has fallen from the tree
and in the grey earth everything is gone, the voices have been hidden,
the ochre child with the yellowish face is gone too.
the old hut awaits him.
The nests hold silent memories,
a feather flies in the firmament, far, far away from the gaze,
the nests, the witnesses of the coming of life,
today the wind has blown them away, it has been a new attempt
It's been a new wait that was lost.
The cold afternoon arrives, the frayed leaves give no shelter,
the plumage tired of flights, lacerates the tanned skin of the bird,
to follow the flight towards other directions,
waiting again for another hope,
another hope that may never come.
The arid, inclement earth...
has left the last nests lost on the roads,
the fruit has fallen and the drizzles have gone,
the mountains are seen far away and withered,
there are no streams for the clement thirst
and a sky so blue that it torments the eyes... glimpses of distance
of a march without return.
The sun casts its rays on the lonely lands,
the roads languish in expectation of rain,
the solitary bird sees the silent nest,
this time there will be no chicks, no flights, no songs.
the evening prayer in the voice of an old man
echoes the silence of this grey world,
the distant song of the dark birds has turned the sad hours into silence.
there is no more pigeon, no more flights, no more songs.
My poetry, I have always defined it as a soliloquy with the moments of life, I do not worry about techniques, it is only a conversation, the words are simple and only seek to express my feelings, just like my paintings, it is only an encounter with my freedom. This is how it will always be
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.
![](https://steemitimages.com/640x0/https://images.ecency.com/DQmQ3YNtSYcH7Zse5rPkQxpcTgWy6uZ5qBtC2CfQ8dVgxSC/banneringles.jpg)
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![](https://steemitimages.com/640x0/https://images.ecency.com/DQmSWTkZHqxnSfocuNFdfuGUh1Yb9EyEEwP27Ergq5uySf9/separador.png)
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This is very suitable for autumn in my area :)
Greetings my friend, each season has its own particularity, they are unique and special. Thank you for always participating
🖐 😊👌
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