Drop of blood
By
Adriana Rocha
With my last strength,
With my last desire,
With my last breath,
I walked towards
The forest
And called
My owl,
I looked at it,
Hold it firm
And gave it as drink
My last drop of blood,
I transferred my soul
And I was reborn.
…
Collector
I am three decades old,
Some describe me as cold,
My fate is untold,
But my story is red gold,
I was born somewhere
Where there is no air,
I am the heir
Of the rare,
My eyes turn white,
My abdomen is tight,
My skin avoids light
And my teeth are bright,
I survive the day
Making my own way,
There is a prize I pay
For which I have a lot to say,
Many are after me
But the one who wants me
is restlessly following me,
Once he catches me
He wishes he hadn’t found me,
After tearing him apart,
I think smart
Therefore, I rest to enjoy the art
And I keep his heart.
…
A thousand drops
fall over me,
I feel them all,
I enjoy the storm.
The moon is gone,
the sky is black,
I can only feel
the excitement in me.
I had been chosen to
be a speaking trumpet,
I called my master
to receive my assignment,
patiently waiting,
eager to start.
The storm had passed
my feathers were
getting a silver shine,
I knew it was the right time.
My shift began,
as night collaborator,
a soul collector,
a being that spreads death.
Adriana Rocha was born in Bolivia. She is a psychologist who has been writing for five years and was published in three languages: Spanish, English and Portuguese. She has been living in New Jersey for two years and 6 months. She believes in the healing power of art, and she has found in poetry both a way of expression and reflection.
By
Adriana Rocha
With my last strength,
With my last desire,
With my last breath,
I walked towards
The forest
And called
My owl,
I looked at it,
Hold it firm
And gave it as drink
My last drop of blood,
I transferred my soul
And I was reborn.
…
Collector
I am three decades old,
Some describe me as cold,
My fate is untold,
But my story is red gold,
I was born somewhere
Where there is no air,
I am the heir
Of the rare,
My eyes turn white,
My abdomen is tight,
My skin avoids light
And my teeth are bright,
I survive the day
Making my own way,
There is a prize I pay
For which I have a lot to say,
Many are after me
But the one who wants me
is restlessly following me,
Once he catches me
He wishes he hadn’t found me,
After tearing him apart,
I think smart
Therefore, I rest to enjoy the art
And I keep his heart.
…
A thousand drops
fall over me,
I feel them all,
I enjoy the storm.
The moon is gone,
the sky is black,
I can only feel
the excitement in me.
I had been chosen to
be a speaking trumpet,
I called my master
to receive my assignment,
patiently waiting,
eager to start.
The storm had passed
my feathers were
getting a silver shine,
I knew it was the right time.
My shift began,
as night collaborator,
a soul collector,
a being that spreads death.
Adriana Rocha was born in Bolivia. She is a psychologist who has been writing for five years and was published in three languages: Spanish, English and Portuguese. She has been living in New Jersey for two years and 6 months. She believes in the healing power of art, and she has found in poetry both a way of expression and reflection.
