Generational poetry. Brief intuition – El Siglo

Time flies and flies

One by one the generations fly by

They dismount and ride on its winds and its oasis, on its greatness and weaknesses.

They are children of virtues and sins

Alvaro Peralta Artigas. Writer. Santiago. 7&6/2024. Oracles have no time. Neither does predestination.

Time flies and flies

One by one the generations fly by

They dismount and ride on its winds and its oasis, on its greatness and weaknesses.

They are children of virtues and sins

That’s where culture, ways, views and tastes are forged.

Wonderful generations.

Each one with her loves and her lonelinesses. With her fathers and mothers,

wonderful suns and moons, darkness and dawns.

There they are, there they beat. They are the path and the emptiness, the caress, the affection and more affection. Pure emotion. Loving like no one else.

Preamble to that audacity, words and eye, imperfect,

hovering between the illusion of a fragile grip, apathetic to the geometric, to its uncomfortable edges

Their choreographers transforming them, yoga assisting them

winding together glances, bodies, loves, freedoms without certainties, sometimes intuition, other times, words that mature and grow in gesture and gaze making the difference.

Years of privilege cradling that generation of the sixties.

Science taking it to the skies. Footsteps of man on the moon. Root of revolution in communications. Television peering into culture. Bringing the image closer to the eye. The pill doing its thing, taking refuge in women in dignity. The rhythm of rock and roll disarranging waistlines. Freeing them from heavy burdens of prejudice.

Love taking possession of bodies.