- ROOTS WITHOUT STEM (EN) -

I will never forget 

the day 

I decided 

to plant an almond tree.

It was the least 

I could do for 

the tree 

that saw me be born, 

walk, 

cry, 

run, 

kiss, 

love, 

fall.

I placed an almond, 

still in its shell, 

in a translucent glass, 

clouded by the soil 

I poured on top. 

The novel was beginning 

with the final chapter.

I watered you

thinking of how big, 

how strong, 

you were going to be. 

The flowers you would bloom, 

the almonds I would harvest.

I don’t even remember now

was it six months or 

was it six days? 

I grew tired of waiting.

Like so many things in my life, 

I left you forgotten 

somewhere in my room. 

While tidying up, 

I found you. 

I decided to throw you away

there was only dirt there. 

But, as the glass broke, 

I saw the roots you had grown.

It’s been a while, hasn't it? What better way to return to this blog than with the poem that precedes it.

A lot of time has passed, and a lot of things have happened. Today on Instagram, I read a quote by Dostoevsky: "We were making our plans, but we forgot that fate also has its own."

For a while now, due to work and academic commitments, I couldn't dedicate as much time as I wanted to publishing my literary creations. Then, when I released my novel, I hit an artistic low. To be honest, publishing it was deeply discouraging. Not so much because of the reception—which was generally good, despite the flaws inherent in any debut work—but because of that feeling of: "I want to walk away from all this stress and forget about it for a while."

Other people's criticism has always left a mark on me. I try to handle it well, take notes, and often even joke about it, but with every book sold, that thorn would dig deeper: "They’re going to tell me it’s crap." That, combined with other personal experiences that have no place here, led to the decision I mentioned above.

But one of the lessons life has taught me is that you cannot run away from who you are. What does that mean? That literature—writing—no matter what happens, is a vital longing. One way or another, it’s going to come out.

That’s why I’ve decided to restart the blog and my posts. I want to improve it and bring new ideas to life. One of them (though I’ve done it before) is to also publish in English—don’t ask me how, but more people read me in the United States than in Spain.

A WORD OF WARNING: You can't run from who you are, and I am someone whose personal, work, and academic responsibilities come first. This means that, much like a TV show, this is likely a new season. How many episodes will it have? Ask fate—that bastard knows more than I do.

With nothing more to add... Welcome to the new season of Salpicón de Poesía: The Verse Strikes Back ;-)