Riding the Beast with Delphine Cadoré
I don’t consider myself an artist, I think that each of us is, but some have forgotten that, children are artists in their own right because they have retained this spontaneity that we later lack.
I don’t consider myself an artist, I think that each of us is, but some have forgotten that, children are artists in their own right because they have retained this spontaneity that we later lack.
I will lose myself as those sleepless, nights are lost. As the swallows fly uncertainly in their freedom. Thus, like the breath drowned in a puddle of muddy tears between slopes whipped by a harsh winter. I’ll get lost on those dead end streets in the midst of a time without stay. Suffering soul
From afar he looked like a man
It was a shadow in the form of a man
From afar he looked like a poet, It was a form of man, with the voice of a poet, In the light he looked like an angel
In the dark
Repugnant
smelly
I liked
Come! Come my love!
The sound of the night falls towards the earth. The pastures surround us with their white moans. Again we walk the bare earth. And we keep the secret. A word wrapped in unreality. My lost sunflowers are from autumn. When they wither in the shadow of the cliffs.
Daniela Sol (Talca, 1983) is a poet, mother and academic. Professor of Philosophy and Bachelor of Education, she completed her Master’s in Latin American Studies at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. She has a PhD in Hispano-American Literature from the University of Alicante, Spain.