22 de marzo de 2013

Supongo que la mejor versión de una vida, es la que escribe la protagonista.

«You've read the story of Jesse James--
Of how he lived and died;
If you're still in need
Of something to read
Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang.
I'm sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They're not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate the law--
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.

But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
"I'll never be free,
So I'll meet a few of them in hell."

The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it's fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can't find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There's two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy:
"I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We'd make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped."

The police haven't got the report yet,
But Clyde called me up today;
He said, "Don't start any fights--
We aren't working nights--
We're joining the NRA."

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.

If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They're invited to fight
By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too smart or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They've been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together;
They'll bury them side by side;
To few it'll be grief--
To the law a relief--
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.»

Bonnie Parker - 1934

17 de marzo de 2013

¿Y tú crees que eso no es importante?

«Hace millones de años que las flores echan espinas, y hace millones de años que las ovejas se comen las flores, ¿y tú crees que eso no es importante? Yo conozco a una flor que es única en el mundo y que solamente crece en mi planeta, pero cualquier mañana puede llegar una oveja y destruirla de un solo bocado, ¿y tú crees que eso no es importante? Lo que tú no comprendes es que haya alguien que ame una flor que solo crece en una estrella entre los millones y millones de estrellas que hay en el cielo, que le baste con mirar a las estrellas para sentirse feliz y se diga, en alguna parte de allá arriba está mi flor, pero si una oveja se come la flor, para él se han apagado todas las estrellas, ¿y tú crees que eso no es importante?»

10 de marzo de 2013

Por si algún día, mariposas.

Aún estoy esperando. 
Y no sé si lo ves.
Y no sé si lo entiendes.
Pero sigo estando.
Por ti, por mí, por nosotros. 

Por si algún día las mariposas vuelven a entrar por tu boca.