I WANT

Today a new release and new age proyects.Mi heart is alone.Mi soul is alone.But my life is full of love.I am the arms and legs of my mother. Illuminate the darkness with the light of tenderness. I need someone to share with me my planes.Somebody to join his solitude to mine. Arithmetic would be perfect love.

I close my eyes

When I was a litle girl and went to elementary school, I got serious illness in my ears. I had to miss more than a month at school. I think that was at the beginning of classes, because the notebook bigger than I was lacked the initial drawing on its cover. My brother, Charles, ten months younger than me, told me: " If you want, you do the drawing " and I answerded : "yes".

That painting is painting the most beatiful that I have been given in life. It was small ant travelling, probably copied from a book of short stories. The litle ant, had legs as thin wire, a dress with red spots, a tiny hat and folded fligts an a basket full of flowers, in their hands with gloves. The leaves were painted, white that did not happen to the notebook or the ant. When I want to see again and feel the happiness that I felt then, I close my eyes and I travel with it.

MOM JULY

I will talk about my mother. She is the strongest woman in the world. She is ninety-one years old and has got many wrinckles on his face.
When my brothers and I were children, she wake up at dawn to prepare our breakfast. Now she reads all day, and prays for us. She has and old body, but her heart is strong .
Some time ago she could not walk, but she pushes us with your advice.

She can not walks, but she walks with her heart.
I am grateful for my mother. She plans things, as if life will give her time. She knows that the clock will stop, but she does not matter.

She always thinks about what she will do tomorrow, but does not know whether she will awake.

My History "Isle of the penguins"

Several year ago, read the Isle of the penguins written by the french writer Anatole France. The narration is very good, and the time, I thought that every thing was real. (I was a very litle girl). Real size of the penguins and real story .
I ended my chilhood and one day on the holiday as a woman, I made a trip to Península Valdes, Argentina's Patagonia. There, thousand of penguins walked behind me. The strange thing , is that my imagination a child had thought of the big penguins like us, adult humans.
This time observing the whales, sea lions and penguins particulary, I felt as part of the story of the french writer Anatole France.
The interesting fact is that a writer from another part of the world introduced metothe imagination saying how wonderful it is to connect yourself with widlife.

MARIANELLA PONCE

NELA:

¡Cuántas cosas han pasado!, desde la primera vez que te ví, eras tan chiquita, que cabías en una caja de zapatos y te reías, ya, te reías. Después vinieron las preguntas a tu vieja, del porqué del nombre compuesto, y lo era por una novela radial basada en el libro "Marianella" de Benito Pérez Galdós. No tenías un año y ya hablabas, y siempre sonriendo. Después la vida te llevó por turbulencias indecibles, siguiendo la prosapia genética de torturas sentimentales. Un secundario cursado a los tumbos, con monedas y cortes de luz general, escapes, aventuras, te fueron llevando por los escalones de fantasmagóricas experiencias. Después el amor, entró como un ladrón por tu ventana, arrebatándote la inocencia y dejándote soles por herencia. No importa, cuántas veces te quisieron soldar los labios, destruirte la sonrisa. Decías simplemente: "la base está". Ahora desde esta perspectiva del recuerdo, de tu voz, que me alcanza por la línea telefónica, tu palabra que me agranda, siento que no fueron en vano, aquellas vivencias en el Barrio San Martín cuando tu madre cocinaba con el techo por estrellas y debía buscar el agua, no sé por cuántos pasillos de miseria. Muy lejos está aquel baño público, o el almacén del Gallego o la vecina Pirucha. Muy lejos está la ausencia sanluiseña de tu padre, o el desafío casi siniestro de cruzar al otro lado del zanjón y descubrir como vivían los que realmente vivían. Y pudiste, lo cruzaste, distante está la cochambre; ¿te acordás de la canción de Serrat? Ahora, estoy segura, pisás tierra firme, has echado el ancla, y quizás los que te aman no entienden la dimensión interior de tu alegría. FELIZ CUMPLE NELA DEL ALMA. DIANA LAURA.