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Oh muros de mi sed, aquellos muros
que no sé si existieron a mi lado;
bebí en ellos soledad de siglos,
luz funeraria, fríos alusivos.
Oh muros de mi sed, aquellos muros.

Triste ejercicio el de invadir la niebla
por ámbitos inciertos, declinando.
Atravesé desconocidos puentes
en el amanecer de los faroles.
Triste ejercicio el de invadir la niebla.

Balada triste | María Elena Walsh

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¡Mujer, mujer! Mi, corazón de fuego,
de amor no sabe la palabra santa,
pero palpita en el supremo ruego
que vengo a sollozar ante tu planta.

¿No sabes que por sólo las delicias
de oír el canto, que tu voz encierra,
cambiara yo, dichoso, las caricias
de todas las mujeres de la tierra?

Adoración | Manuel María Flores

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The Earth moves 108,000 km/h around the Sun and I look at you; we smile at the same speed. We look into each other’s eyes at the same speed. Our hearts beat at the same speed and you and I move at the same speed.

We are holding on at the same speed.

You are looking at me concerned for our memories, that they are in danger of being lacerated and mangled from us. From all existence.

There is nothing you can do, we are just holding on.

As your hands slip through mine at the same speed, it feels like the world has stood still.

Everything has forced our hands as they are torn apart.

Centimetres from calamity, a persistent and vile heartache.

Our relationship exposed all at once.

All at the same speed.

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The sunset reflects from your irises

Like a bellowed coal, cupped in pyro’s hands

The glow warms your cheeks

And lets little fires alight in my belly

Paint your golden visage in the dictionary

Under “radiance” or “Helios”

And I’ll supply enough kindling for all of time

Even if I have to burn the very last page

Of all these words I’d write

For you


Maureen Armstrong @haikkun

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“Seventeens: Acoustics” by Amit Majmudar, found in Between Midnight and Dawn: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Lent, Holy Week, and Eastertide compiled by Sarah Arthur, p. 33
A hand must pass the strings for them to sound.
The absence of the touch is what resounds.
Axon for axon, we are strung, we are
A kind of neurological guitar
A star has strummed to music. Our musician
Has touched us once, gone quiet now to listen–
Is this mind flat or sharp? How well’s it tuned?
The absence of his hand is opportune.
His famous silence proof we have his ear.
Reverberation needs the aisles clear,
And rumination needs some room to roam.
If he were here, these rhymes would stay at home,
And all that’s hard and hardest-won in us
Be obviated by the obvious.
Have your hosannah, I prefer the hush.
Check the acoustics in this empty hall.
Not the faintest echo when you call.
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from “Letter to Saint Francis” by Abigail Carroll, found in Between Midnight and Dawn: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Lent, Holy Week, and Eastertide compiled by Sarah Arthur, p. 28-9

In light of your example, I hereby forsake
(not wanting to duplicate)

the paisley, polarized shades I have wanted to buy for some months
(now on sale at Rite Aid)…

Abandoning these worldly goods
(I sincerely trust)

will also mean the giving up of dust in all its forms: dandruff, worry, shame,
(bathtub residues)–

In truth, Francis, there many things I’d like to lose.

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from “Ash Wednesday” by Anya Silver, in Between Midnight and Dawn: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Lent, Holy Week, and Eastertide compiled by Sarah Arthur, p. 17 
How comforting, the smudge on each forehead:
I’m not to be singled out after all.
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from “In Memoriam A.H.H.” by Lord Alfred Tennyson, found in Between Midnight and Dawn: A Literary Guide to Prayer for Lent, Holy Week, and Eastertide, compiled by Sarah Arthur, p. 16
Our little systems have their day,
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
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“Umaga na sa ating duyan
‘Wag nang mawawala
Umaga na sa ating duyan
Magmamahal, oh mahiwaga”

I know you are well familiar with the title and the lyrics, yes, it’s our song. It has been my song and our song since you came back. That first stanza of the song, saying not to leave again is what I am living ever since. Dreaming that one day, we don’t have to love each other from afar.

Tonight, I cried. Not because you hurt me but because of the fear that one day I might lose you again. Knowing that anytime soon you will be leaving again. I’m afraid that just like before, distance and time might change you, might make you forget me, again. I’m terrified.

My love, I am so sorry. No matter how hard I try not to think about it, to take it positively, I just still can’t forget how much it destroyed me and broke me. How lost I was without you near me. I was traumatized. And I’m barely recovering from it.

Believe me when I say that I only want the best for you and your happiness, I really do. If I could only provide all the things you needed, I wouldn’t let you leave again. Never again.

But as how you always say it, with great love comes great sacrifices. Agreed, I just wish that it will all be worth it. The sacrifices, the compromises, the things, memories and the people we might lose along the way. I hope it all worth it. And I pray that it is still the both of us in the end. I pray for the day when you no longer have to leave me in order to achieve your dreams. I pray that someday, after achieving all of your dreams, it is me the one you’re chasing with.

It is me you’re prioritizing with, ooh how I wish.

I love you so much,
Always and in all ways.

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Søren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety
Anxiety is an alien power which lays hold of the individual, and yet cannot tear oneself away, nor has a will to do so; for one fears, but what one fears one desires.
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