In English

Puçol (València, Spain), September 2020 A different sky, seemingly gray, unclear, yet there is light. A different air, omen of change to come, of a new bright blue. A different day, apparent routine, surprise on the prowl. A different look, which sees blue within gray, happiness within gloom. A different life, with ups and downs, swift, with changes and a spark. A different perspective, which turns grief into energy of life.

Salamanca (Spain), September 2020 Rejection hurts. Losing love hurts. Is it always going to hurt like this? Is this pain just supposed to stay? No answers, just pain. I am looking at a landscape once so beautiful, now in shambles, a landscape I accidentally burnt down. Painful the view of ashes and embers, too weak, though, to look away, much too weak also to carry on. The time has come to stop licking my wounds, the time has come to pick up the pieces, the time has come to start rebuilding life. It is time to start building something new. It is time to wake up from this pain. It is time to stop hurting.

Sunset in a burning California, September 2020 (Thanks for the pic, Phillip!) Fire on the ground, fire in the sky. Fire in my soul, energy of change. To be a different person without abandoning myself. To be a different person while being just the same. To be change. To be energy. To be fire. To be. © Photo: Phillip Cleaver © Poem: José Antonio Calañas Continente  

  From my window, Puçol (Spain), September 2020 In my heart a void does live left by loves lived and gone, beautiful loves which shone bright until they left just darkness behind. Lost loves which once were, which livened up my days, which nestled themselves in my core. Cherished loves which disappeared, which left behind pain and cold voids, which threatened to darken my days. To no voids my heart is destined, its goal now to be filled again with new loves, with fulfilling ones, and with the fond memories too of what once was and is no more.

  A Face in the Moon, Puçol (València, Spain), August 2020 When love is over, rage caused by pain gives wide berth to resentment: the uneasiness of solitude –both new and old, forced– will sour your eyes, will muddy your days. When resentment is over, reproach is swiftly approaching your space: reproach for what’s been done, reproach for what’s been perceived. And for the sake of the love that was, and that –you know– won’t ever be back, you let your fond memories finally extinguish the embers of rage, of resentment, of reproach. When resentment is over, at its time, never before, a fruitful field opens up for you to sow the seeds of the new love that is just about to arise.

On the way home, AP-7, Spain I know somewhere out there is a special someone waiting for us to meet. I don’t know yet who you are, where you are going. I don’t know yet your name or age or how you look. I don’t know yet where you live, how you live. I do know, though, you are somewhere and our paths will cross. I know, always knew, good things need time: wait, hope, expect nothing. But would you consider hurrying up just a bit and letting us meet? My heart is healing nicely and ready to commit again: Just come and kiss me better.  

El Puig de Santa Maria (València, Spain), August 2020 Changing air, alive, cold colors dancing toning from blue to gray, from gray to deep orange. Changing clouds, alive, a storm in the making, prophecy of a sunset. Calm water, refuge, a storm unchained, wind caressing my face. A journey in good company near the sea, on sweet waters barely failing to reach the vastness of salt. Vital voyage all around, jumping from earth into the river, from the river into the calm sea, from the calm sea into a bright sunset.