Miguel José Carbajosa Gómez


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My Cousin Dawn

MY AWAKENING (español)

MY AWAKENING - 7.11.2008

I open wide the doors and find the hallway, a place where they attach tables hidden in small closets, who heads parade in the same direction behind a screen that turns on in each of its points of light, silence which uncovers in whispers and a few phone calls that lit the morning.

They are different faces, different grounds from which each perceives its own world, the interpretation of this very diverse options would place the contents in each language that might argue how they live day by day which gives them the security of a quieter life .

At that buzz inside me and I see faces distinguished between the windows, which flood the hands of any letters written by the flap Dawns of printers, copiers repeat the same boxes, pictures that are installed in any of the desks in this school without teacher Of this school that gives us life.

I learn from every look, every smile, every good day, any of the gestures that are delivered with gestures to be able to compete in the best, in having the best time to enjoy it, to finish the reports delivered to whom expect from their offices in the rush to a call that has been frustada for arriving late at the time it all away on the same holes.

It is called a silence that starts with small cafes, for those sandwiches filled with the talk of a weekend in the tranquility of not having to extend a day that is already closed and sealed, those moments in time that that closes the game is approaching in the chat that soak any corner in front of the output of services.

Is the scheduled time, the elevators begin its descent and ascent in a tumult of calls, waits of unrest, of glances toward the character that happens in the hopes that we will quietly moving away from that place, all in a row where our photos open and close the scores to cancel the time.

Tomorrow will be a new day different from that of today and yesterday, other than that we close today between the movements that relax some tired bodies in the rush to any bus that opened its doors in the mouths of a few places where an underground train takes us back warm and disorderly Purta a departure from where every day from a Monday to Friday leaves emerge without the objection of being an empty bed on a cold morning that the afternoon heat.

I sleep between open, looking lost in the event of my feeling, a place where people change their time for money, where the companion teaches us that attitudes may give reason to be nice to have an open space in the work that the Life leaves us on to ensure a content of the walls of this time to thank with a real sense of my own existence.


Miguel José

Publicado por Miguel José el 7 de Noviembre, 2008, 8:08 ~ Comentarios (4) ~ Comentar | Referencias (0)

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