Painting by Orestes Bouzon

Some words rusted in my mouth
as the past insinuated itself
behind the shadows and the dust
in my invincible dark room.

Can't remember when anger
started to simmer in the kitchen.
Maybe it was before my dead skin
flaked away.

As you speak,
you touch my unanswerable anger,
my unanswerable love
and I still don't know
whether love created anger
or anger created love.

The days are too short for me.
It is impossible to move effortlessly
through life.
It is hard to forgive.

(What is forgiveness for those
who can't forgive themselves?)

I feel courage fails me
as I shepherd my eyes
toward yours.
Things are half bad,
things are half good
and I can't be the change
I expect with care.

An unpractical love affair
with myself might be all I need.
While I doodle, still devoted to
what is gone, still dedicated to
what is impossible to save,
I wonder if I should save myself first.

The road is long
inside me.
I chase my crutches.
Can't walk anymore
without the support of my heart.
(I choose the thorns:
it is comfortable to bleed among roses)

I will wake up one day older
and without any user's manual
to help me to live
or rebirth.

And you...
Oh! You will be just an unobservable mystery.

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011


  1. This holding onto what is past... reminds me of the classic song on the radio, 'BRANDY YOU ARE A FINE GIRL...'
    I love the art framing this poem. It is classic and beautiful. This whole piece is lovely and candid. Blessings...

  2. I love the new lay out of Cafe blog and your blog... all beautiful!!