Imagina que un día, yo ya no te escriba…
¿Aun así me amarías?
Imagina que un día, yo ya no te piense…
¿Me extrañarías?
Imagina solamente que eso algún día pasaría.
Y dime, ¿cómo te sentirías?
¿Dolor? ¿Rabia? ¿Melancolía?
O simplemente, nada dirías…
Imagina solamente, que escribo de otra sonrisa.
De una chica más hermosa…
De una mujer, que responda a todas mis prosas.
Imagina amor mío, que un día, este poeta, no sea de tus manos.
Y dime, ¿cómo te sentirías?
¿Por mi llorarías?
Imagina, que un día, te diga… que solo fingía…
Y que ese te amo, lo escribí, mientras reía.
Imagina, princesa… que no eres la única en el poema.
Y que todo lo que sentía, no fue realidad.
Imagina vida mía… que yo siendo poeta…
Siempre te mentiría…
Y que, con cada verso, te hacia mía.
Para probar algo, para poder escribir mucho más.
Imagina, que use tus manos, tus piernas y tus brazos,
Para alimentar, una idea que ya podrida esta.
Imagina, que use tu cabello, tu boca, y tu sonrisa sin nada más.
Sin más nada, que una razón egoísta, ¡rimar!
Imagina, que te hice musa mía, solamente porque quería.
Imagina, que me inspire en ti, porque más nadie había.
Imagina todo, todo lo que eras, imagina que es mentira.
Porque yo sin ti, pude, puedo y podré…
Escribir todas las malditas poesías.
Imagine that one day, I no longer write to you...
Would you still love me?
Imagine that one day, I no longer think of you...
would you miss me
Just imagine that one day that would happen.
And tell me, how would you feel?
Pain? Rage? Melancholia?
Or would you just say nothing...
Imagine only that I write of another smile.
Of a more beautiful girl...
Of a woman, who responds to all my prose.
Imagine, my love, that one day this poet is not in your hands.
And tell me, how would you feel?
Would you cry for me?
Imagine, that one day, he tells you... that he was only pretending...
And that I love you, I wrote it, while laughing.
Imagine, princess... that you are not the only one in the poem.
And that everything I felt was not reality.
Imagine my life... that I being a poet...
I would always lie to you...
And that, with each verse, I made you mine.
To prove something, to be able to write much more.
Imagine using your hands, your legs and your arms,
To feed, an idea that is already rotten.
Imagine using your hair, your mouth, and your smile with nothing else.
With nothing more than a selfish reason, rhyme!
Imagine that I made you my muse, just because I wanted to.
Imagine, that I was inspired by you, because there was no one else.
Imagine everything, everything you were, imagine it's a lie.
Because without you, I could, I can and I will...
Write all the damn poetry.
Dear @rigasi,
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Thank you for your help!
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