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My Library

In my library there is no double glazing. Of Me. Today, the sound of rain serves as a barrier to the street buzz. He had not heard the rattle so characteristic of the crystals.
It's cold. Always cold in the library. There are small hot air diffusers and a couple of friends put a close while closing a shutter. Closing a shutter ... What confusion! I'd rather put on my coat before closing a shutter.

My library is not just about anyone. It is small and, although it is in the center, is a tad away from the circuits kicked, so many people do not repair it or forget. So one has the feeling of being in a time far removed from one in which heads of state seek the illiteracy universal Traviata with subterfuge resultón formal education.

One gets the feeling that, when turning a corner (the room is set around the courtyard) are going to find Celia, which again punished for behaving insolently, thousand copies Sometimes a universal principle in his notebook: " Julian Assange is a selfless philanthropist who just wants the good of humanity ... Julian Assange is a selfless philanthropist who just wants the good of humanity ... . " Celia feels rebellious and true to itself, ie insolent, emphasizing the "one", but, being well aware that the arrogant are others, and has prepared its response . Then, of course, the call twee, but this is already used.

way out, a cat looks surprised me from a window because it provides a street fight a few young people who shout a lot. Celia I disappear and also Anastasio and his friends , who went above moneando.

few minutes later, I bump into a cheesy dress. Vi

life better and I did not like.

All this to leave you with this classic by Antonio Machado, one of these poems previously appeared in the book Path, and then in another book, and then another. It would be fun to go down the street asking for less than twenty years if they have ever heard something other than content Machado transversal CHILDHOOD MEMORIES



A chilly and overcast afternoon
winter. The students
study.
monotony of rain against the window.

the class room. In a sign
Cain is shown
fugitive y muerto Abel,
junto a una mancha carmín.

Con timbre sonoro y hueco
truena el maestro, un anciano
mal vestido, enjuto y seco,
que lleva un libro en la mano.

Y todo un coro infantil
va cantando la lección:
"mil veces ciento, cien mil;
mil veces mil, un millón ".

Una tarde parda y fría
de invierno. Los colegiales
estudian. Monotonía
de lluvia tras los cristales.

P.S. Sí, esto parece una entrada del blog de Eva Marín. Y yo, un autor de coros en el carrusel haciéndole guiños a otro autor de coros.