By Angel Acecam Cloneoser

Angel Acecam Cloneoser, is a Mexican writer born in the municipality of Nicolás Romero, State of Mexico in March 1985. He considers himself a milestone buried deep in his land.

Angel has a degree in administration; his texts mainly deal with death, loneliness and heartbreak. His poetry has been published in the Mexican magazines Nocturnario, Monolito, Engarce, Poetómanos, Ibídem, Letrantes, Primera Página, Collhibri, Tintasangre, Perro de la Calle, Elementum and Letras Rebeldes, as well as in publications from Argentina, Guatemala, Colombia, Portugal, Spain, the United States, Bolivia, Peru, Chile and Ecuador. Currently, he is studying the masters in educational technology.

Medusa

Between the hells of my loneliness

You usually hide,

Appeasing my desire to call you

Oblivion seduces me and sneaks between

Got damn,

Where did you learn to play like this?

I feel faint

Tied to the dying fate

That erases my footprints

Of your

White skin,

You look behind Satan

Your dirty wishes become is

In my painful reality,

I will die! You smile taking him by the hand

While my cherubs try to lift me up

From my dying bed,

Did you hear my prayers?

Hundreds of little birds

They wove a bed for my soul

With moss and ocochal

So that he sleeps in the softness

Of your complacencies,

So I won’t get to hades

Precipitated by your lack of love,

In the dawn the roosters will sing

My farewell, like a hymn

That are sounds like a natural regret of the

Land that hungry my body awaits,

Dust floods the tears of my relatives

How much haggard are the memories and fire

Those ask truce to time,

Wood and glass adorn

My farewell to the room

Of my bones,

Dirty failed attempts

For returning to me the genesis

That beats in my grave,

You live among them

Jellyfish of my eternal loneliness

And you hide to kill me.

Silente (Silence)

May your silence kiss your lips

With the sweet flavor of their anonymous,

May a cold winter wind burn your skin,

May your bitter destiny

Bring you to the forgetfulness

That inhabits medusa with honey

What does exile taste like?

You hide your lovers

In the dark face of your soul

That is approaching hell,

You tasted the pieces that a god

I left in your bedroom

After your death

And that’s how you satiated

Your atrocious hunger,

You made ashes to the mourners of nirvana

That dwelt near your pupils

And you could not mourn your tragedy,

A tornado of harmless demons

They will take them to the desert

Of your revenge to lock them up

Eternally

Big liar,

You fool the angels

That rest on your hair

And you tie their wings with them

To hand them over to the executioners

That devours them in a hurry

You will reap the fruits

Of the apocalypse where

Your loneliness will be a mattress

In the long insomnia

Of bloody tears,

Let your soul cry,

And after a decade

You will take them to the warehouse

By chance

With roots of bitterness,

And there, they will become seeds

Of great torment,

To be sown in your body,

That you will germinate between statues

And bees,

With your immense cry,

To agonize in that desert,

That desert will be your graveyard.

Raiz (Root)

I am a child of this land,

This one that was born of a snake,

Devoured by a golden eagle,

What is the navel of the moon

For eternity!

I am the fruit of her womb

That stretches across the continent,

I am aroma,

Food

And ornament,

I am coa,

Vunta and plow,

I am a cornfield,

Totomoxtle

And grass.

I am groove,

Weed and heap,

I am sowing,

Cocecha

And troje.

I am cane,

Kills and spikes,

I am chaff

Canvas

And picker

I am a farmer

Day laborer and farmer,

I am corn,

Mass

And atole

I am nixtamal

Omelette and offering,

I am a child of the sun

With earth blood

I am corn, the root of your offspring.

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The post Contemporary World Literature: Poetry from Mexico first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Contemporary World Literature Poems from Mexico

By Melissa del Mar

Melissa del Mar studies Communication and Digital Media at the Tecnológico de Monterrey, and has a diploma in Mexican Literatures in Indigenous Languages (2019) from the National Institute of Fine Arts and Literature. She is the winner of the Woman Tec Award (2021), in the category of Art and Cultural Management awarded by the Center for the Recognition of Human Dignity of Tecnológico de Monterrey.

She is head of the Coordination for the Recognition and Promotion of Women’s Rights of the International Foundation of Art and Culture, head of Communication and Dissemination of Cardenal, Revista Literaria, Director of Art and Culture of PICO Informativo, columnist at Proyecto Ululayu, co-founder of the workshop All Names I Am of feminist creative writing, and co-founder of the podcast (In) visibles.

Melissa del Mar has been published in digital and print spaces such as Buenos Aires Poetry, New York Poetry Review, CONECTA, Reforma, El Universal, Milenio, MásCultura de Librerías Gandhi and has performed at TEDx, Feria Internacional del Libro, Festival Mesoamericano de Poesía, Encuentro Nacional de Mujeres Poetas Jóvenes, among others. She is part of the anthology Novísimas Reunión de poetas mexicanas (1989-1999). Her poetic work has been presented in Mexico, Argentina, Belgium, Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Italy, Peru, Spain, and The United States. 

Nahuales’ Sunset

 I see you

In Tonanxochilco

Womb that bore our daughters out of nostalgia

In the distance of the dust that rises

Like wanting me to remember!

Where the ahuehuete leaves fade

There your echo, which like a tide spreads until diluted,

Is a silent red-breasted omen

Indicating your nocturnal return!

I remember your voyage, that so many ignore,

The one printed on stone, waiting to hug your flat hill,

Canicula

In the navel that saw

The sun being born!

Sour land, cracked

That cries out to be recognized,

Like all the deaths, still nameless

Between rocks and cliffs,

That today receives the legacy of a title

That everyone knows other, where

 You still are.

I feel you

In the wood that stands

In fumaroles that imitate wandering souls

Of this land that is of transit,

Seeds that

Dry rage; in your guts

That are being cooked

And among the desert that I find pirul,

I see you in shadows as you walk through the roots,

Just as you were,

When you left!

Cuauhxochitl, sweet tangled in your hair

Preserved as the thorns that today I remove from your green forehead

Filled with a fruit that is conceived red, protected.

And you fade into flavors

Those of this dark mount crowned with symbols we don´t own,

On nights of heaven pillars of lime,

That spices you up, sweeten and make you bitter.

That is enough for knowing you are alive,

Knowing you are tonal languages,

Knowing you are other languages,

Knowing mother tongues,

Knowing your own tongue,

Knowing each other without words

Knowing pain,

Knowing hurt,

Knowing that,

Like you.

I am still alive.

I taste you

Mystical earth, I smell on your tanned vanilla and dry sand skin

The collapse of sweat and breath!

I believe in you and what your mouth (that will not ever be mine)

 Preaches with words that

Through the passing of the day,

Will leave the body to stand free when falling!

With your hand that reaches out to mine,

As it always did,

To request,

To give,

You perfume the hours when they try to forget you,

And you get in,

You dominate,

You wonder,

You dance to the moon, which will soon

Be reflected in lakes of dark blood,

And you’ll find, in the stench of dead flowers

Like your sad sisters,

The strength to remain standing,

Like you still are!

I breathe you

When tears come out of rocks and the

Howling drum whispers,

Naming you, panting between whistles

And I know every blow, as a tide,

A voice

Your voice

Like a surge that returns.

Every vibration, trembling like

The back of a grievance soon to be born, calls you.

The leaves speak in a language that tastes like secret rain

And between murmurs of indigo dye

A melody that

Only the sea sings,

 The ground kisses the bare foot

That prays in tongues that only in the wind are written.

And now that I touch you,

I feel you walking paths in my hands

While continuing your journey stepping between salt water plateaus,

A home that quietly flows

Draining back to the caves where they belong,

Where waiting for all your daughters,

That someone else found along the way,

You still are.

I hear you

And the afternoon already has the eyes of all the mothers

Who only see haze in the day

When people start to forget,

A day scorched between lights that no longer grow,

A day

Another day

Without knowing how to put a face to the broken bodies,

To your and my bodies,

To everyone’s,

Penetrated until they catch fire

In the ovens of the wasteland,

Until they dissolve into ashes.

They,

Those I cannot name, because there is no longer a face on their bodies,

Wait like Nahuales until it gets dark

To greet those who stand by,

Those who keep looking,

Those whom despite knowing them dead,

Buried,

Missing,

Between sunsets

Believe you are alive.

Because you still are.

 Today, as then

 Bindweed of water, inhabited by the spiral

Of the sea and the shadow, fertile land

Your mouth is,

Where words are born again!

We dream of ourselves as plants

To understand the words

That the grass emanates

When we hear it!

The stems that the dawn brings,

Burst from you

And they unite us all like your daughters,

Twinning each bud

Bulb, field, 

Seed!

We germinate from the root of the tule

And we cross branches

To heal our inheritances

Herbs, wounds, and

Today, as then,

We name ourselves as one

Facing the death that plagues us!

 We are the foundational verb

In your language that is the placenta.

Fruitful maple oil you emanate,

To give us life, wind

Word of your womb!

We will walk birch trails

To reach the threshold that dwells us,

And so enraptured,

We will plant your memories

And cover them with moss,

To avoid that,

Today, as then,

They all get trampled.

We recognize each other in your milk tongue,

That also is

Countryside, where

Despite the death inhabited in your substrates,

We will learn to sing other

Melodies which are not just to

Accompany sorrow.

I thank the nectar that runs out from your hand,

Like lichens of warm honey,

Threads of light,

From which you nourish the mouth of stone.

You slow down, spike, in the wheat field of your verse,

The raving of life that passes by, and

Today, as then,

Your strands weave us past, present.

And so, we are one in the dust that reminds us,

We are all

On the griddle that reinvents who we are.

 And if they intend to bury our branches,

Snake-like steam will come out of our oaks

To say, never again in silence, that

Today, as then,

We will continue to sprout.

 And if burning us in bonfires they seek,

We will burn in flames that paint the sky,

To remind you that our fire cannot be put out with water, and

Today, as then,

We will resist.

 And if they want to tear another of us off the ground,

We will use as rain the crying of women that have been taken away from us,

In graveyards, we will sow in their memory jacarandas and

Today, as then,

Each time stronger,

We will be born again.

_____________________

The post Contemporary World Literature: Poems from Mexico first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Three Poems By Daniela Sánchez

Daniela Sánchez (Mexico City, 1998) studies Literature and Creative Writing in the University of the Cloister of Sor Juana (Universidad del Claustro de Sor Juana) in Mexico City. She also is studying engineering in innovation and design in the Panamerican University (Universidad Panamericana). She participated, as a writer, in the 2018 version of the Microfictions of the University of the Cloister of Sor Juana. In 2019; she coursed a diploma course in European Contemporary Literature in the Center of Literary Creation Xavier Villaurrutia. Currently, she is a Poetry editor and chief of translation in Cardenal Revista Literaria.

Sun was about to set

The Sun was about to set,

On the point of setting,

But, regretful,

She got one hand out from her wide shelter,

And then the other

Maybe she saw you,

Or she just had one moment of insecurity

But she got up and ran,

Upstairs, towards the right,

Towards whatever side she could.

Now she makes believe,

With me, with you,

That neither of us knows endings

That sunset never occur

That the world is made of sunrises

And words are never painted purple.

Tell me a lie

Tell me, Fortune, when the world fails,

And when death turns itself into an open invitation for dinner,

Who can I reach?

Whose hand can I take?

I can’t hold the hand

From the man with a gown as white as his beard

Maybe the cards have more answers than he has.

I can’t, either, hold his cousin’s hand

He has a bloody beard and thorns instead of laurel.

Maybe I could ask the stars

They have already shaped my soul,

They have defined me in three parts.

Someday, maybe, they could tell me

How are they going to define me in the future.

If only I could hold my father’s hand,

But his world is as crooked as mine,

And he, just like me, doesn’t know how to fix it.

Someday we will look for, Fortune, some glue,

We could paste the pieces together with some theory,

Even though tomorrow it’ll fall again

If I stand on my head,

Could I delay, just a little, the last candle I will ever blow?

Tell me, Fortune, if I break you, if I crush your flour crust,

Could you tell me a secret?

One that will be mine, and mine only,

Tell me a lie, Fortune,

Tell me you know the future,

And that it is mine.

Just one letter

I’m just one letter,

One that has been written once and many times,

I wish I could be the letter a

I could be a rounder letter,

A more useful, a more comfortable one

But, I am not.

I’m an unpronounceable letter,

Located between a silent u

And an uncomfortable dieresis

Maybe it’s my fault,

I spent too much time looking at the stars

On the blank page,

I spent too much space looking for

The future tense on verbs,

Now, I’m lost, I never got to follow the others.

I’m just a tiny letter,

One that can be erased

With an eraser, with liquid paper,

I can be changed, I can be misspelled,

But, even the smallest of letters

Can complete the alphabet

_____________________

The post Contemporary World Literature – Poetry from Mexico first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Contemporary World Literature: Poetry from

Poems by Lilian Michelle Medina

Lilian Michelle Medina (CDMX) is a Mexican poetess and writer, who does not distinguish between the passion for the letters and free running. She studied Hispanic Letters at the Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana. She has participated in literature conferences as a speaker and moderator since 2015.

She obtained the first place in the Poetry category of the Literary Creation Contest organized by the XX CEEECIL. Currently participates in independent projects and as an assistant in the System National Researchers. She shares literature on the Instagram account @lectophilica.

_________________

The broken

All the broken know

Of emptiness and absence

They carry ghosts hanging

All over the body

That they weigh and sometimes

Lighten.

All the broken

Discover new fissures

With every stroke of luck

Because they drag doom

Underfoot!

All the broken know

Of families by contract,

Of friends

With a very long tongue

And love

Without significance

All the broken know

Of horizons without sun,

Of echoes in the chest,

Of the rise and fall of the sea

And from elusive hiding places

All the broken

Walk without knowing

How many frayed seams

They carry under their footsteps.

The broken ones don’t go to the tailor,

They fray themselves little by little.

No vacancy

Hidden pain,

Heir of silence

And emotional firstborn,

You come back to me as a guest

That claims your stay

Enduring, ethereal,

Par-a-sit-ic

Just an illusory touch

Of foam on the edge of my feet,

You arrive like the wave

That heralds the tsunami,

Subtle and phony:

You drown out the cry of the body

In the sound of your tyranny

Where had you been?

Split on the pillow

Of my ancient ages

Dreaming that you are death

On the bed of the impossible

Hidden in the bags of my face

Castaway between the stories without waves

Recondite pain, old mirror,

You get to cure me of the illusion that I live;

I would give you free accommodation,

But you become unsustainable

When you are big to my chest!

2 am

Perches under the mattress

(Making me uncomfortable)

Like the old family photos:

Treasure of a generation

Of kisses and caresses

I dive into the pillow

Of the boiling time

And I evaporate myself

In the form of a nightmare:

There is no cloud that shelters me

In the wake of mourning

The distaste of your absence

It rushes me

Disenchanted

Towards a glass of alcohol,

Infected with nostalgia

And loss

I sleep on your memory

And I crush you

With the weight of dreams

That you left orphans

Of dawn

Under my eyes!

(Translated from Spanish to English by Mercedes Soto)

_____________________

Read about history of Mexican Poetry 

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Contemporary World Literature: Poetry from Mexico

By Emily Granados

Emily Granados was born in Mexico in 1994. She studied Hispanic Language and Literature at the National Autonomous University of Mexico, a public research university in Mexico. Emily is an actress and oral narrator and is currently a workshop and secondary school teacher.

I

Scared here

We all have our unique and unrepeatable vision of the world

Unwitting delicate doers,

We are, without rehearsal, it is me,

The one who is splicing her fears lying down

In the gloom of a peak,

Naked, empty, swaying wind revives her

Like a little fire in secret for me

My eyelashes dance but I don’t see anyone

There is no one, I am alone.

On wooden sticks with traces of sweet

My insecurities as a child are on fire…

And the dark streets

And my dad who didn’t come back

And my grandmother dead

My baggy pants

They were safe when I thought I was a child without knowing it

And Opitz syndrome

And the sheep butchered by grandfather.

II

In diamond gift bags the craving for desires,

The accelerated passage of time

Oh the accelerated passage of time!

That then I wanted to stop,

Frustrated, frustrated without understanding

What was the moment?

I was in a hurry of twenty-five and loose,

Of everything that is born and claims its channel

I felt that the world was new and the new was me,

Spun by my will,

Above all wills.

III

Inside my clown nose

Nightmares accommodated for ages,

The faces of those that my family killed without knowing,

The lights of the cities

That I have visited for the first time and one day,

Like everything that does not repeat death,

My own pantheon that expands like fire

And all the uncertainty

That leaves the walking of the three-headed monster, time.

IV

There at the top

Alone on each edge of the skin,

On each exhale,

Crying and loving with the fears inside,

I threw it all into the black void

That generates energy in another space

In the same act that I took it out of the gut,

Thrown away, I licked the wound like an animal,

Placid in the night almost howling,

It was no longer nor was it going to be,

Was and only,

I was alone on an invisible peak

Invisible to the human eye!

____________________

Read about the Mexican Literature

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