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Exceptional times require extraordinary responses, in the sense of out of the ordinary and habitual. For this reason I have decided to open this new blog:

Handmade.
​Weaving words during the quarantine



Handmade. Because we have witnessed how, even in rich countries, with Corporations wealthier than entire nations, with billionaires who do not know in which of their N properties and yachts they will be quarantined, with advanced technologies like never before in human history... even in these countries our doctors, nurses, and all health care personnel have had to resort to the generosity of ordinary people, who have hand-made masks and other security items and donated them.

Handmade, because in these times when resources are scarce, we must start creating and building with our hands a better future for all.
Here I will have mine and otherswritings that have been inspired during the quarantine.

My first language is Spanish and my poems are translated by myself. I know that they could be poorly translated and I apologized for that, but I cannot let the language be a barrier. Please let me know if you see mistakes.

THESE DAYS

10/2/2020

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THESE DAYS
 
Sometimes the future comes slowly
We see it from afar approach
like a shy ferret.
It seems to look at us, smells the air,
it lets itself be seen and hides
and suddenly it's already at our feet
rummaging through the crumbs.
 
But now the future comes stampeding:
heavy days running in a pack,
furious rhinos that are not daunted
even if they are trampled and left behind,
like dead flies
insignificant smudges in a swatter
empty lines in the calendar
 
This days the future comes at full speed.
We frolicked in the grass 
and at the last moment
we were surprised by its bolted noise
the trembling in the feet, 
when the earth yields to its charge.
And all things pass through
like running away from something
one after another 
on an incessant train of misfortunes.

Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, July, 2020 

Original in Spanish: ESTOS DIAS


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Half

8/23/2020

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Half
 
We have been stuck on a Sunday for so many days
sharing the same air without pause,
also the tasks of carrying small things,
that become important when you have to do them without rest,
urgent, almost,
like to wash the dishes
clean the tracks of our steps
collect our scraps:
what we are leaving behind when we are living.
 
A millennium ago we went out to sell our time
We agreed that each would make half the home
and each one had in her head the list of duties
But your list was five things
mine was 50
So the half was never the same.
 
Now that we all witness the wear and tear
you probably understand what it takes
to have the time to invent new dreams.
It's Sisyphus's burden: Do a task
that never ends and never progresses,
one day and another, forever.
We push this invisible stone:
Nobody sees it, nobody values it.
Nor do they understand sweat and stress.
But if we let it roll down, it would crush us.
So heavy and enormous is this burden.
 
Many hands are needed to push
We also need to choose well
the weight we carry:
Not everything is important.
 
When two decide to share a life
they also decide to share their entropy.

Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, 23 de agosto de 2020

Original en español: Mitad.html
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Normalcy

5/6/2020

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 NORMALCY
 
We have had whales 
on the roof of the houses for years
Before, some people managed to see them,
and they didn't understand the absurd.
They said puzzled:
Look at the whales up there
They are going to suffocate!
They're going to collapse the houses!
But most ignored them.
Maybe they confused them with the sky
Maybe they thought they were part of the roof
Maybe they never looked up
or distrusted their own judgment.
 
But after the world stopped
and  we feared for everyone's life
when we wanted to lookup
and see clean skies and strong houses,
the sad folly became evident.
Now the whale on the roof is very clear.
If you don't see it
it's because you don't want to.
Luz Stella Mejia Mantilla, May 5, 2020

Original in Spanish: NORMALIDAD
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BROKEN WORLD

5/2/2020

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 BROKEN WORLD

I

Maybe for a new world to be born
the old one has to be broken.
 
We already knew it.
Hesse told us at the age of 15.
So many others affirmed it
and we half understood.
 
We didn't know that literally
the world would break one day.
 
That the important ones would be useless,
and the nobodies
would carry everyone's life in their hands,
like modern Atlases.
 
That the guides 
have their lights off 
mistaking the way.
 
That those who think life 
and paint it with colors, music and words
are the ones who save us.
 
That the mendicant gods are hidden
and their self-proclaimed exclusive agents
keep asking for the fee
for the heaven’s expensive services.
 
We didn't know who the heroes would be
if the world broke.
Now we have met them:
Men and women with science shields 
who have not been given masks
but have been ordered gags.
 
II
 
The world is broken
what will we cure it with?
with eggshells
burritos to the pasture.
Let the king pass… 
let him pass and go on and not come back.
Because we will not heal the world
with eggshells.
The world must be remade
from the beginning.

Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, April 29, 2020

Original en español: MUNDO ROTO
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FIRST OF ALL

5/1/2020

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FIRST OF ALL
 
To stay at home 
you must first have a home
 
To miss someone 
first you have to be with someone
 
To be unemployed 
you must first have a job
 
To return to normality, 
we must invent normality.
Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, April 2020

Original en español: PRIMERO QUE TODO
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We won’t forget

4/16/2020

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We won’t forget
 
We won't forget who still stands
next to the sick,
even with plastic frustration and handmade rage.
 
We will not forget the farmers 
that gave hope with plantains in Tuluá.
 
We won't forget the 29 Diner
who turned his dining room into a pantry.
 
The one who lent his car to a stranger,
a nurse who was late for saving lives
 
We won't forget the one who exchanged profits
for justice, giving back wealth to its source.
 
We will not forget those who have risen
with the truth as a torch and as a spear
 
We won't forget the gestures of love and care
We will burn them in the memory with fire 
 
We won't forget noble women and men,
ordinary people doing, in their routine,
extraordinary things.
 
We will not forget the tyrants either.
Those who exclude the white coats
Those who buy, stockpile and gouge
Those who want the world always turning
around their never-ending greed.
 
No,
We will never forget.
Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, April 15, 2020

Original en español: No olvidaremos
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HANDMADE

4/14/2020

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Imagen
The hair grows
and the truth is revealed
We are looking for masks to go out
while we are at home without makeup
We get rid of accessories
and we learn to love the essential things.
Maybe the bare white roots
don't matter anymore
Maybe now I learn
to be able by myself.
Maybe now I appreciate
my mother's seams
the imperfect kitchen of my childhood
the tricks, the lessons
that so many women taught me, and
my father and grandpa’s talents.
The crops, the weaves, the repairs,
the paintings, the furniture, the inventions.
Handmade
will be from now on
the preferred brand in my home.

Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, April 13, 2020

Original en español: Hecho a mano
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NO CEREMONY

4/13/2020

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Drone footage shows mass burials in New York (BBC.com)

There is no funeral that carries so much pain
because there is no funeral at all
Bodies hidden in trucks
Pine boxes, piled up, 
without silk pillows.
Gone without goodbye or glances
through morbid windows
No one took the hands 
of those who leave.
No one heard their last breath
The tubes took away theirs words
that died silently in the machines.
The ears to which they were directed
will forever 
wonder:
What would they say?
There are no tears at their burial
just sweat and stale masked breath
of paid contractors,
bodies sheathed in white solitude,
mouths waiting to return to beer.
There are no rituals, no candles, no words
There are no ministers, no pastors.
They are still holding out their hands
waiting for tithes.
I suspect no one is waiting
the arrival of so many passengers
I think the gods left their kingdoms,
terrified.
Perhaps they are also in quarantine.
Luz Stella Mejía Mantilla, 11 de abril de 2020

Original en español: Sin ceremonia
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They don’t want us

4/13/2020

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Who needs us now 
that silence lets us hear 
the tiny voices 
seeping through the branches?
Who misses us now 
that the Earth rests 
of wheels and pistons?
I hear the whisper of the trees 
in their wind dance 
and I understand what they're saying:
Will the monsters return?
Luz Stella Mejia Mantilla, April 9, 2020

Original en español: No nos extrañan
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Without Us

4/13/2020

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Imagen
I forgive you, Spring,
for blooming at my door
without my saying.
Perhaps you don't realize
that I'm still hibernating.
You make the cardinal display shameless
his happy color at my window
Outside, the sweet song of the living
jumping through the grass
excludes me painfully.
 
Life, overflowing in the gardens,
surprises me.
How can you be so beautiful
when I am hostage to carelessness?
We were siblings in time
now you go around spilling flowers
and today I'm not part of the miracle.
 
I suspect you know it and disdain it
Maybe you want to tell us something
Maybe you and Mother Earth finally want to
celebrate our confinement with a party.
Luz Stella Mejia Mantilla, April 7, 2020
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  • Principal
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