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The happy pig

Mark Gerstein Villanueva, "Pig with glass eyes", oil on canvas

Once upon a time a pig

whose owner did not sleep

to know if that

lived his life happy.

man walked on the lookout

to remain calm.

A shed of palm

built on the yard and

in the pigsty, a bucket filled

ripe fruit.

the pig is said: No question

that this man loves me,

as I'm concerned

strives as a slave.

! Go Lucky pig!

! What a life so sweet you are!

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short day came

where people sang and

much will exult,

between strings and tambourines.

man came to be pigsty,

where his sleeping pig and

without penalty, no joy,

opened a cut the windpipe .

merely serves this story

a lesson to those who do not understand,

that few people tend

his hand in friendship.

Not everything that occurs, there is

for the love of common people.

Sometimes it brings hidden

the edge of evil.

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Desahogo rabbits

Fred Einaudi, "Rousseau", oil on canvas

As you again, my breath the wind,

Under the fiery circle of the afternoon,

Ave lavishes a return arrow,

random Crossing on the wings of the region of

A kiss, just south of the blue region

shadows, where the letter is purpose and

Designio, the ancestral stool of a thought.

Back my soul to you, as the flame to the sky,

Arrasando most voracious signs of a life

yield between regular dilemmas, traveler amazed

In the hours that they could not be attempted,

Voices who longs for the endless search

Crossroads goodbye embarrassing early

fearless Root the tree that gave incipient nest

My wounds, doubts ploy seeking

His horizon in the void of oblivion infertile ...

As the flight of a bird arrow between two lips,

Like a rose straight into the curb of their destination.

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Melancholy

life is not always a succession of joys, good times and sunshine.

Sometimes it is cloudy, the trees dripping and while your face downcast, seeing nothing around you, your only contact with the world is made up of the reflections in the puddles. Not even to take the picture you'd like to raise his head, and you focus on that reflection, blurred and distorted, a reality that overwhelms you, which you would like to escape looking for those other times you'll never fijabas in puddles and if pisabas appreciated the freshness instead of cursing ...

are moments of melancholy, sighs, short breaths until you choke you realize you're out of air, and air-filled lungs to exhale as you return to sigh and sink back the head between the shoulders, hands in his pockets, and come back to look high and reflect a ray of light will tell you soon ...

Melancholy ... (Sigh)

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Up, down, effort on the rise, and control effort in the fall ... Basically, walk the line of a mountain, walking permanently for the summit, is that.

And of course, begin to draw parallels ... The first thing that comes to mind is that of an electrocardiogram, the IBEX 35 ... ups, downs ... the morale of the troops ... euphoria, depression ...

I finally realize that we live in the rope. Not necessarily on the line, but lately I have my moments when I feel a little tightrope, the rope of the mountain, a good metaphor for life, so demanding, so ungrateful in general so wonderful times when we give away one of those unique moments that never leave you no matter what happens ...

Up, down, effort, control, skidding, effort, pain, effort, glory, pain, joy.

And yes, as I recently said, life is tough, it's really hard. But still, despite everything, life is also wonderful, full of small moments to fill any gaps.

Ea!

PS: You can click on the photo to see larger.