Dad

Far, far away you sit. 

Its six  in the morning and I can hear the pages turning, 

You sneak a cigarette so as not to let Silvie worry.

Your type writer is resting while you drink your morning coffee, 

the first of many.

You are surrounded by  a million books, 

each has  a corner that you have  bent where  important thoughts
and words wait for that right moment when they need to be said.

On your desk a few snapshots of  people you love who are not near.

Your window  leans across the length of your desk and faces
the big tree , who like you sits and stares south remembering .
the mountains,   the sky, the friends, the music,the silence.

the innocence  Once there was spring.

Your shirt is tucked half out of your pants , old slippers and a robe
that you wear only because you need  a place to hold your cigarettes ,
your eye-glasses and of course a  book

Your eyes are red and your hair is a mess,your face is filled with lines
and  holes and marks that grace your nose. A fine nose you have
wrote.  Yes it is It is a good place to hold  your head.

Inside  your desk you have neatly filed all the projects you have
dreamed. You told me once,What is a man but not his dreams ,
What is a man but not his word , What is  a man if he doesn't
yell at the wind , What is a man who is not browned by the sun,
What is a man if  he does not  plant a tree.What is a man but
the name that he lays on his heart. Something like that...
you always told me a lot .

In your desk a  folder with memories , 

You.! you have a folder of memories .Funny to find out that you
are a sentimental old man. Who would have thought behind that
disguise; that you hold precious those insignificant prizes.
It is nice to know.

There is a garden that you have started to grow. All these years
I would  have never known that you have the patience of a farmer,
who plants and waits ,who waters and waits, who nurtures and
waits.    who waits to enjoy  the day the seeds break the ground,
who enjoys watching the  vine grow tall and flower a garden and
who enjoys cutting a flower to share with his love that smiles, and waits.

Well Dad, its not exactly a poem and its not exactly a story,
but I guess nothing is exactly how it should be always.
Today is  Father's Day I woke up thinking  how nice it would have
 been to wake up and share a coffee and a chat and  to say
I love you Dad. Soon. But as things are and  not as they should
please  know that I was thinking of you just the way your are.

As always your son and  friend.

(to my dad Marco Antonio Chiriboga Villaquiran on Father's Day)

You

Yesterday he wanted to thank me for
what I have given him but I told him
it wasn't me it was you .

Can't you see no matter what happens,
tomorrow will live because of you.

I am sad because I have to say good bye ,
but I'm  elated by the thought that I know
who you are. That you are part of  who
I am and that he is a part of both of us.

I love you more then these words  can know .
more than I know more then He will ever know.

I guess the best way to say it is that
yesterday,today and tomorrow is all  you,
the way I look at the sun  and the flowers,
the way  I plant a seed,
the way I phrase a word ,the timber of  my voice the color of what I see,
It is  in the  moments that I find beautiful , or when I am silent or brave  or happy or mad.
Its in the way I dream with the moon and cherish the stars and  feel the cold and the rain. Its in the way  I twitch when the first snow drops and shake when the first day of  fall gets cold.It's in the way I  show my love and hold my child. It s in   the way I embrace my brothers and sisters and  its in the way I say hello and fear good bye.
It s all you  and now its all me  and soon enough it will be all him.


( some last thoughts from a son to his mother)

My sweet beautiful Emily

My sweet beautiful Emily.
In her eyes  I see the stars
of an unknown universe.
With her touch I feel the warmth of the brightest sun, even though it is the coldest winter.With her laughter she  vanishes away all the clumsy noise that crowds the air and  fills my heart with music that lets me dance in the whirlwind of my days.
Her dark hair flows teasing the wind and her eyes, her eyes glitter a brilliant radiating stare that is always looking for a new place to rest the beauty of her smile.
My sweet beautiful Emily if God gives gifts then you truly are a present wrapped in beauty laughter and wonder.

(To Emily for being Emily on her 15th birthday)

Where is Marco ?

Where is Marco ?
"Zero latitude Zero minutes Zero Seconds
The middle of the world !!!
Where you can jump and touch the stars,
Where streets are paved of cobble stones
and songs of long ago serenade the air.
Where colorfully painted houses proudly adorn the streets .
and from their majestic balconies perfume the air with the scent of red gardenias
The house are tight ,no space between, each a labyrinth of court yards          
that flow deeper and deeper into mysterious halls protected by big wood doors and eyes of angels that follow you from
the stone built walls .Everywhere churches and squares where people meet.

Their skin rough from the cut of the wind and Carmel color from the
heat of the sun. Their dress, colorful and heavy to protect
them from the mountain air Men and women wear felt hats of different colors
to claim the province from where they come.

The women adorn their necks with gold beads ,that lay on embroidered white shirts.  A smile from them at times shows a missing tooth or a golden smile but they welcome you with a long lost look. These are the indigenous people who still protect the earth and worship the sun. These are the people that remind me of where I came from and where I come . I am in a place where men tip their hats and you kiss everyone hello. No one is a stranger and everyday brings hope.

I'm in a place where you never are alone because snow capped mountains cradle you and the blue sky caresses your soul. Once Incas walked these mountains , here was their kingdom Here is where my grandparents,my father ,my mother were born this is where I call home.
Quito Ecuador."

If only

If only the sun would shine
and the moon would hide.

If onlythe birds would sing
and the raindrops dry.

If only hello was never said
and goodbyes never meant.

If magic happen in the moment
and not in the sky.

Love

I walk the streets
my heart filled with murder.
My head jumbled with
thoughts of you in my arms.
And the stars ,
the stars just twinkle in the sky
and play their melodies ,
the sweetest lies.

When I am not with you
I go crazy thinking of where you are
and when your with me
I go crazy thinking of who you are .

Yes, love slays
the one who stand still the longest,
the one who tries to cherish
each and every moment,
the one who hesitates to steal
glimpses in the other's heart.

Love is not for the weary.
Love is not love.

Tonight I walk the streets
with murder in my heart.











(not completed)
MCV

The Gift

Neath the darkness of her shelter
like a precious gem she holds
the love and tenderness of her loins.

Yes,some days are long and cold and
other days just burn and burn
Still, she finds comfort in the teardrops
that fall from heaven,they disguise her fears
and hide her loneliness.

The harshness of the wind
at times too much to bear,
but there are those days.
Yes those wonderful days,
when the dew lays gently on the dawn and
the sun shines through the crystals in the sky
and paints a kaleidoscope of colors
that fill her thoughts
for days and days

She welcomes the sound of the thunder
it reminds her she is not alone.
Oh and what a special gift
to see the light dance in the sky.
Sometimes raindrops can feel so warm.

Soon the darkness and the cold and
the wind and the sun and the rain and
the loneliness all go away.
And on this day..this glorious day,
the precious gem she has nurtured and loved
for so long , blossoms.

She awakes.
In all her color, in all her hopes,
in all her dreams, in all her eternity,
in all her innocence, in all her fragrance,
in all her majestic uncompromised mystical beauty.
And the world sits in wonder.

Thank you for the sun and the rain and the wind.
Thank you for this flower you know her name.

The Gift
MCV
To Sarah on her 13th birthday.