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    Human Family

     
    I note the obvious differences
    in the human family.
    Some of us are serious,
    some thrive on comedy.
     
    Some declare their lives are lived
    as true profundity,
    and others claim they really live
    the real reality.
     
    The variety of our skin tones
    can confuse, bemuse, delight,
    brown and pink and beige and purple,
    tan and blue and white.
     
    I've sailed upon the seven seas
    and stopped in every land,
    I've seen the wonders of the world
    not yet one common man.
     
    I know ten thousand women
    called Jane and Mary Jane,
    but I've not seen any two
    who really were the same.
     
    Mirror twins are different
    although their features jibe,
    and lovers think quite different thoughts
    while lying side by side.
     
    We love and lose in China,
    we weep on England's moors,
    and laugh and moan in Guinea,
    and thrive on Spanish shores.
     
    We seek success in Finland,
    are born and die in Maine.
    In minor ways we differ,
    in major we're the same.
     
    I note the obvious differences
    between each sort and type,
    but we are more alike, my friends,
    than we are unalike.
     
    We are more alike, my friends,
    than we are unalike.
     
    We are more alike, my friends,
    than we are unalike.
     
    Maya Angelou

    Barquito de papel

     
    Te pongo en un barquito de papel
     
         cuando llueva por la tarde, sarparás
     
    te soltaré junto a mi banqueta
    y desde ahí te diré adiós.
     
         ¡Te me vas por duplicado, falsa ilusión!
     
    yo me quedaré sentada un rato
       viendote partir
         
    soñando en lo que viene
    o más bien a donde voy
     
    imaginándome ya lejos,
       caminando de la mano
          bajo la lluvia,
             junto al mar.
     
    G.
     
    (yağmurda yürümek)
     
     

    Todo es silencio

    No, no seré el eterno mensaje persistente,
    la insistencia repetida que incomoda
    ¿cómo podría ser sorda ante el silencio que me grita?
     
    Al fin se rompió el hilito fragil
    que le puse en la mochila un día
    y me miro rodeada de anhelos
    de vivir su historia entre palabras
     
    pero no....
     
    pasa el tiempo,
    y todo es silencio...
     
    G.
    (para el hilito elástico)