Nameless poem | Original poetry | Creative writing | "RECOMMENDED READING"

Nameless poem | Original poetry | Creative writing | "RECOMMENDED READING"

By nachomolina | nachomolina | 2 Feb 2020



Nameless Poem

Author: @nachomolina
Original Poetry


What is the nameless poem?


Who you are?


What are you made of... ?

Be poetry


Starting from the idea that art is sureal, ephemeral and unpublished. This is how the definition of the nameless poem emerges.



"Evolutionary vision of an author who stands on the letters, is a tightrope walker, is suicidal, watching the sway of the lines. Hypnotized by the totem buzzing, he hopes not to fall into the void of his last turn ..."


The ability to see reality with nuances that are far from the ordinary and ordinary. Achieving the harmony of thought, which can then translate through writing in a work that punctuates vision and study, the cunning of the creator to shine in the world of forms and subtract the original particle of inspiration.

Where does the universe of poems come from?

"That unbroken torrent of inspiration that may surprise even the same original author."


Where is the matrix?

... the nameless poem.

Fighting a battle


Confrontation of body and mind, spirits measuring forces, mortal mourning of ideas where some bend, disappear, flee giving way to new ones. They manage to agree to abandon the ethereal and give rise to the authenticity of an image. It is sordid crying, in the intimate evening of the poet and the inhospitable inner inhabitant. His hand trembles in fear! by ignoring the turn of thought ... wait for the new scar that enlarges the tattoo of his soul. Thousands of congregated voices seeking an escape into the light, between heaven and hell in a place destined for the heartless, dye their first letter, stain the reason and darken the skin. Wielding the meaning, when I am more blind, is when it even lets me see.


... the nameless poem.



That transformation, the moment expected by the poet. Without explanation, you are water, ice, then you are fire, quartz and coraline. Sudden changes deafen, disconnect reality, depersonalize me, make experience for the soul denied to stop being a child. Because a child has purity, benevolence ... And the poem is pure, it is spring, with its origin in the silence of what you could not shut up. Sitting at the dialogue table, my confessional is a sheet of paper, which will wear a body entangled in the papyrus of wisdom. Where being king ... I am a slave, I seek the reason for being and I find nothing, because turned into an ocean, sadness sinks into its depth, like a mirror, it reflects the prison between letters, abandoned in the street of "oblivion" ...

"I will wear my next poem tattooed on the skin, with indelible ink will remain engraved. As a shelter, between letters at the mercy of time, my silence will speak the ignoble discourse of the forgotten ..." A nameless poem tattooed on my skin



Free Soul


This is the life of an author, who dies every time he holds the pen. He who looks at the blank sheet and sees it transform into a maiden and a knight, a demon and an angel ... Among the indecipherable forms, it is when he is born and then he shouts with all his courage the word "Freedom". Writing will set me free! It is the conception of the soul, the purification, with my groans dedicated to creatures on planet earth. Those who look at me from there and do not hesitate to follow the direction indicated by my new topic, I thank you. Because I believe in what I do! And if I do, I know that some fair ending awaits me in the last paragraph. Because I dare and I'm not afraid, I direct my thoughts against a wall and leave them in the hands of an echo ...



A new name, born, is erased and overwritten. It is ink, coal on a canvas again waste, thrown between the harmonics of a phrase that is lost in anonymity. "No name" is the title, when memory has no father, no mother, we are orphans in this no man's land. Wielding the dagger and sticking it in the center of the chest just to feel that you die with that part of you that was wielded for the memory of a time. A past in the hands of the reader with which I will close a new pact. Life after death, in an infinite discussion of what you wanted to say sometime and without being able to put it qualifying.

Although in the end I must settle again, with that mark on my skin that is revealing, at pleasure.

... the nameless poem.








[Original Content]







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Also published in Spanish version, in my personal account of the platform. If you want to check the publication, here it is the link:

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