AL MAESTRO

EL  MAESTRO                                                                                                                                                                                                     
El maestro es Ilusión                                                                                                                                                                                            Es esa mujer preñada                                                                                                                                                                                          Que irradia en cada pisada                                                                                                                                                                                El verde de la creación.                                                                                                                                                                            Entrega de corazón                                                                                                                                                                                               Arado sublime y granos                                                                                                                                                                                      Fecundando en los humanos                                                                                                                                                                          Luz de fe, sobre lo mundano                                                                                                                                                                                Consciente, que del futuro                                                                                                                                                                                    Él es el vientre y las manos.                                                                                                     

Si entre golpes del destino                                                                                                                                                                                La tragedia despiadada                                                                                                                                                                                    De un pueblo, no deja nada                                                                                                                                                                                  Un maestro abre el camino.                                                                                                                                                                          Entre el escombro asesino                                                                                                                                                                                Es la mano prodigiosa                                                                                                                                                                                       La mirada milagrosa                                                                                                                                                                                          Es la miel sobre el salitre                                                                                                                                                                                Que desde el noble pupitre                                                                                                                                                                           Planta vida en cada choza.                                                                                                          

Bajo todo movimiento                                                                                                                                                                                            Existe un maestro en pie                                                                                                                                                                                    Que se alimenta de fe                                                                                                                                                                                         Y arranca sueños al viento.                                                                                                                                                                           Ante el trágico momento                                                                                                                                                                                      Que trae sangrantes heridas                                                                                                                                                                              El maestro revive vida,                                                                                                                                                                                    Pues desde tiempos lejanos                                                                                                                                                                             Un maestro tiene mil manos                                                                                                                                                                              Que avivan cosas dormidas.                                                                                                         

Sin el maestro  no hay confianza                                                                                                                                                                        Él no  tiene marcha atrás                                                                                                                                                                                    Es ese labriego audaz                                                                                                                                                                                 
Que se siente en su labranza,                                                                                                                                                                          Ese que siembra esperanza                                                                                                                                                                                Sobre piedras, con porfía                                                                                                                                                                                  Sin el maestro, no sería                                                                                                                                                                                     El hombre la fértil fuente                           
De evolución permanente                                                                                                                                                                                  El mundo se estancaría.

Mery Suescún.

Submited by

Lunes, Mayo 20, 2019 - 21:10

Poesia :

Sin votos aún

PEDRO NEL JIMENEZ CASTAÑEDA

Imagen de PEDRO NEL JIMENEZ CASTAÑEDA
Desconectado
Título: Membro
Last seen: Hace 3 días 16 horas
Integró: 03/24/2011
Posts:
Points: 5658

Comentarios

Imagen de J. Thamiel

coment

muy bonita, felicitaciones

Add comment

Inicie sesión para enviar comentarios

other contents of PEDRO NEL JIMENEZ CASTAÑEDA

Tema Título Respuestas Lecturas Último envíoordenar por icono Idioma
Poesia/Erótico PRESTARME OH MUJER DIVINA 0 1.173 03/24/2011 - 01:19 Español
Poesia/Erótico PRESTARME OH MUJER TU ENCANTO 0 1.552 03/24/2011 - 01:39 Español
Poesia/Erótico PARA HACER EL AMOR 0 1.513 03/24/2011 - 01:43 Español
Poesia/Erótico DE QUE MANERA 0 1.676 03/24/2011 - 01:53 Español
Poesia/Erótico DE QUE MANERA 0 1.798 03/24/2011 - 01:53 Español
Poesia/Erótico A TUS PIERNAS 0 1.782 03/24/2011 - 01:58 Español
Poesia/Erótico COMO UN PAR DE GAMINES 0 1.827 03/24/2011 - 02:03 Español
Poesia/Erótico SEXO Y CORAZON 0 1.424 03/24/2011 - 02:08 Español
Poesia/Erótico QUE ERES TU? 0 1.420 03/24/2011 - 20:31 Español
Poesia/Erótico QUE ERES TU? 0 1.403 03/24/2011 - 20:31 Español
Poesia/Erótico COMO HACER EL AMOR? 0 1.634 03/24/2011 - 20:40 Español
Poesia/Erótico USA TU CUERPO 0 1.682 03/24/2011 - 20:43 Español
Poesia/Dedicada QUE ES ROBAR? 0 2.064 03/24/2011 - 20:54 Español
Poesia/Dedicada BICENTENARIO DE QUE' 0 1.533 03/24/2011 - 20:58 Español
Poesia/Dedicada EL PAJARO HERIDO 0 1.373 03/24/2011 - 21:03 Español
Poesia/Dedicada UNA ESCRITURA UNICA 0 1.823 03/24/2011 - 21:07 Español
Poesia/Dedicada SI TANTA IMPORTANCIA TIENE 0 1.828 03/24/2011 - 21:12 Español
Poesia/Dedicada NO SIEMPRE ES BUENO 0 1.389 03/24/2011 - 21:15 Español
Poesia/Dedicada NO HAN SIDO LOS MEJORES 0 1.362 03/24/2011 - 21:20 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A EL AGUA 0 2.034 03/24/2011 - 21:33 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A LA TIERRA 0 1.096 03/24/2011 - 21:36 Español
Poesia/Dedicada AL ARBOL CAIDO 0 1.528 03/24/2011 - 21:39 Español
Poesia/Dedicada TENGO UN JARDIN 0 1.295 03/24/2011 - 21:41 Español
Poesia/Dedicada COMO EL MAR 0 1.571 03/24/2011 - 21:44 Español
Poesia/Dedicada AQUI LO PAGAS 0 1.076 03/24/2011 - 21:47 Español