Greetings, Steemians and colleagues from Steemitschoolpoetry.
We are on the nineth day, heading for a hundred days of poetry.I thank the people who support me and who have read what I am creating for the cycle of 100 days of Poetry summoned by steemitschool: The habit of the monk-Day2 / This skin that I live-Day 3 / Guest I - Day 4 / Guest II - Day 5 / Guest of light - Day 6 /Eternal guest - Day 7Gift of flows - Day #8.Today the proposal is a beat of my heart. Always hoping you like it.To accompany the reading, I recommend this beautiful song:
Pink Floyd - Time

"There where others exhibit their work, I only pretend to show my spirit"
Antonin Artaud ( 1896 - 1948)

Waning moon

A white hair is tangled in my mouth, knocks on the door and
pinch my navel.
A very white light makes me shudder when I remember
that time is approaching and fear shrinks.

Two hot glasses, trembling with pain
they get scared if they look at the feet of the clock.

A bird with soft colors blows my ear
looking for relief, to calm their pains.
Looking to face the fear of getting lost
flying, flying without anyone present.

A mouth sighing, sings the old lullabies
of pulse and rope of old clocks.

Memories of dances with wolves,
of times of wars, medals and achievements.
Fecund times of the beloved family
and from a dear company that left a long time ago.

A very white hair is entangled in my neck,
She hugs me in search of comfort for her rest.

Sleepless nights and vague hopes.
lifelong relief
relief for your departure,
that she knows walks towards her.

That white hair confesses his escape
of subjects without life, of other coasts.

She tells me to pray for her days to spread
and that when his moon descends into the waning room,
I must ask him to go back for her, with his soul turned on
to restore the life he took in his departure.

How much I would like to return that white, brown hair.
How much I would like to stop the minute hand to the clock.

How much I would like to hide clocks from all over the earth,
that time does not pass, that time does not weigh.
How could I ask the moon to stay full,
may he never decrease, never show on his waning face....

---

Luna menguante

Un cabello blanco se enreda en mi boca, me toca la puerta
y pellizca mi ombligo.
Una luz muy blanca me hace mohínes para que recuerde
que el tiempo se acerca y el miedo la aprieta.

Dos vidrios templados, temblando de pena,
se asustan si miran los pies del reloj.

Un ave de colores suaves me sopla la oreja
buscando el alivio, que alivien sus penas.
Buscando que atienda el temor de perderse
volando, volando sin nadie presente.

Una suspirante boca, arrulla añoranzas de relojes viejos,
de pulso y de cuerda.

Recuerdos de tiempos de danzas con lobos,
de tiempos de guerras, medallas y logros.
Tiempos fecundos de amada familia
y de compañía amada que se fue hace tiempo.

Un pelo muy blanco se enreda en mi cuello,
me abraza buscando consuelo a su quiebre.

Consuelo de noches insomnes y esperanzas vagas.
Consuelo a su vida,
consuelo a su ida,
que sabe, camina hacia ella.

Ese pelo blanco confiesa su huida
de temas sin vida, de otras orillas.

Me pide le diga que le alargue sus días
y que cuando salga su luna menguante,
regrese por ella, con su alma prendida
a devolverle la vida que se llevó en su partida.

Cuánto quisiera volver esa cana, marrón.
Cuánto quisiera parar el minutero al reloj.

Cuánto quisiera esconder los relojes de toda la tierra,
que el tiempo no pase, que el tiempo no pese.
Cómo pudiera pedirle a la luna que se quede llena,
que nunca decline, que no muestre nunca su rostro menguante.

---

Original poem by @zeleiracordero

Dedicado a mi amorosa madre.
Dedicated to my loving mother.

Reading notes: Intermediates
Images of Pixabay
Thanks to @d-pend for the creation of this space to share our creations. I am also grateful to @dobartim, @flysky and to the #steemitschool team ... A big hug.
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For accompanying me, reading me and always being there ... Simply THANKS