Dare to cross to the other side


Are you happy where you are?  Of course not!  But fears nails you in the same spot, fear kills your dreams, fear set the distance between you and the goals you dream!

But, you know what’s worse?  The fact that you are certain you are able and the strong awareness that time is passing by!  I dare you to cross the bridge, write your book, become a writer!



My toil


I have always been a writer
made my house with short vowels, black ink and lots of paper
and I have always wondered if the heavens have destined me to write
to depict with words the effects of the light over the shadows,
to describe the pure essence of the colors and their music,
their uneasy and awkward moods that seduce our souls
its transparent divine face . . .

And for years I wrote about the fragile feelings
Spirits found between our sadness and the naught.
And I was forced to watch as the words subdue the souls,
making them dwell peacefully amongst dreams and fantasies long gone.

Until one day . . .
my hand got tired of the toil,
my thoughts simply faded away, I finally rebelled!

And I rose against my quest,
the Divine command of becoming a scribe
I fled away and became anew,
and anew I began again,
but this time it was a different quest
The search for beauty,
A hidden beauty that lies beyond what we see and perceive,
a secret beauty that cannot be contained nor cannot be resisted
not at least by me.

And it happened that sometimes I’ve found the beauty in the body,
in the perfect lines of a princess, in her sweet smile
but sometimes I’ve found it in the soul,
in the cry of a poet, in the sad song of a piano man
and sometimes I’ve found it in the spirit,
shining and burning the heart of those who live close to God.

And as I travel, near and afar
charcoal became was my passion
because ‘gray scales’ seem to feed my hunger and ease my desire
So I settle down and now, quietly,
I decided to abandon the poems and its lyrics
and old as I am
here I sit and draw what I can still see with my eyes
or remember . . . . i will draw you!


Out of the city


I dreamed of a far mountain | In solitude and silence it did stay |  Take me back to that high mountain |  Free my spirit, I pray!

But here I am in my city room |  Grasping ideas and fighting time |  Yearning for that moment, those old days  |  when I was surrounded by fantasies and cold winds

Take there I pray  |  There . . . .  |  Out of the city and out of my self!


From the book “My dear friends . . . . ”  By Carlos Soto, Helvetia Digital, 2016