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WHERE ARE THE PRINCESS?



"In an anonymous princess. Because all I could do for you was this little story, that your innocence will be printed on sheets of paper and thereby fend off the dragon, even a hard fantasy "

From where I'm from the Princess do not live in a beautiful castle, we have a court of honor, and we are daughters of kings. Nor do we live on the lookout for great dragons throwing fire from their huge mouths. Where I am, no witches enchanted apples offer or give us roses whose stems have thorns that make us sleep poison for centuries. Nor is there any princes that we awaken from long slumber with a kiss of true love.
The smell of coffee in the morning made in charcoal stove and the smell of wet earth smell remind me of where I am, where I come from. The smell of my house with mud, dirt floor, Yes, this is my castle , mud, dirt, surrounded by a valley of sand and the sea.
Princesses here do not inherit thrones, nor walk in floats. Do not have a royal escort. Our tears will never become pearls. Our kisses did not turn into a handsome prince to a hideous toad. Our hands did not turn to gold the grass dry, but they do like spiders weaving. We do not have a magic mirror to tell us ... You're the most beautiful in the universe! Why be beautiful, whether here in this valley of sand does not count. No witches crystal ball predicting our future, but we do have dreams that we announce events.
When girls, we started the pichiguelos of tunas and iguarayas of desert cacti. We swam in dams, run through the valleys of golden sand and our tracks are erased by the winds from the northeast to turn them into the desert dunes. Only traces of the dunes become princesses. But when the moon Kashi, penetrates us and makes us bleed, we are locked. At night we heard our laughter as a child carried by the wind, never to return. We cried and we rebeldizamos in confinement, because an evil spirit we behave like that ... That spirit has to leave, do not give comidad and exits. _Dicen Grandparents. So just give us bitter brew chicha Cerrera and until we throw up and that happens only when we begin to dream waleket-the spider teaches us how to weave. When some time passes we forget to play, we forget to laugh, just knit and knit these days of confinement, moons until we lose count, just waiting for the day out.
Just over one summer, my older sister Sumaiwa left the prison and I have not seen since. On the third day of his imprisonment ended a chief about 60 years saw her and loved her. I had never seen, did not know her name or where he was, nor where it would lead. My sister and we cried with her princesses. Where do you take that horrible old man, the dragon, the most beautiful all the princesses?
spent some moons when the dragon came back with four cows, two mules, fifteen goats and some gold necklaces for Mom and tuum. That was the Sumaiwa feat. Desperately asked if they were changing. No! They shouted. It is the marriage of Sumaiwa! The animals would multiply and be supported by your sister if she is widowed or abandoned by her husband. The necklaces are for the blood she shed at birth.
_ but she did not want, do not know.
_ I did not know your father, nor your grandmother and your aunts to their husbands. That's the way aquí._Contestó mom.
Sumaiwa, went crying Mawui mounted the mule Dad gave him. The desire to kiss Sumaiwa has become that old frog prince, as in the tales of princesses who learned to read here.
end of my confinement, while everyone slept, ran out of my castle, with all that the maiden Waleket, the spider weaving taught me in my dreams. Follow the laughter of girls northeast wind takes never to return. I followed the laughter of the beautiful Sumaiwa and laughter of small Weinshi that still plays in the valleys of sand. I kept my laughter and never returned. My footsteps became desert dunes nobody knows, I think, to where I was.
Today I see the princesses walking around here through the valley of cement, but tomorrow and not see it. Asked the pretty girl who sold crafts at the door of a hotel Riohacha, but nobody has seen. Someone told me that she had been given an old cacique of two million pesos a mule and a necklace.

... Today I want to kiss the beautiful princess turn into a handsome prince to that old toad, and ... if this is not so in this horrible toad CRUSH A DRAGON!

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WOMEN OF BASIL

This makes the landscape: Put
sky above, sky by two halves.
A flock of clouds, a lone tree, put a line in the middle,
but far, far away, and let me stay in solitude for her.
For look at the sunset, because it, for nothing, to see again doves simple, twilight
let me on this shore, where I look in
and where I have as a child's blood, let me be the clay, I know
the air, between being and nothing, I get to be quiet.
A package of silence where the wind is delayed.
Stone, stopped for a moment, he always leaves a little dust partner.
A beach of goodbyes, a tired dancer, who a thousand years ago called eddies.
and spins, spinning on one foot at a distance.
This makes the landscape, looking at the source, sky above the eyes and under
blood if I have to have, the sacred offices, I have to make bread, kneading
early, cover it when the sun climbs to the birds.
And let it grow as the fruit slowly in October, patriarchal
the shade of trees. If I have to have the wood of the quebracho
oven warms me from the red to white.
when they come I have mine in the rain, I have
bread wheat and I sound like petticoats. I have that if I put it like a sun on my children
table blinking, dazzled
laugh until I bring a Ollada of locro smoking,
and my man the bread on your chest bigger and there between their voices laborious and dull look
slow down the moon slices.
So, if I remember, the passage from memory, I remember apart,
I remember and I do not remember, I filled the dishes away from the sound,
as looking back, like behind the handkerchief, and while the fried roll red pepper
feel that suddenly collapses oblivion, ay ...
And a year spent dreaming ..... basil
happens that ever happens, the year womanizer, a maiden walking
without looking up, and learn from the old touch of the blind.
A guard at the ear some mischief, pitting
bee a fairy funeral, basil seed bank of the canal sound
until all the bulls loose carnival and more then shoots
Pujllay sadness and never know who burned the skirt.
The thing is that sulfur is the senses, and right there in espaldotas fall to spring. Carnival is
devil knows all the tricks, nipping at the forts innocent of flour,
chaya you so much joy to the poor multitude simple, that everything is just Ash Wednesday.
Then come the tears, come back everyday and if lucky, one has
who ronde houses, the faster will soon have to stop the ranch, because it comes
Fall vidala tired.
mine all to gather at the table and tell what I have with the fingers of the soul.
moons were long and the children grew and death could not give us back the tobacco.
This is nice when everything returns to your site, clear the memory
is broken in the spoons,
all I figure how to pray alone,
and is as if we ate inside a bell. Back
expected night stop in the walnuts.
And a scent of basil, goes up into the wind.

ARMANDO TEJADA GOMEZ

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registered in

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GRANADA

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