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 2 años 3 semanas
Integró: 03/24/2011
Posts:
Points: 5898

Comentarios

Imagen de J. Thamiel

coment

muy bonita, felicitaciones

Add comment

Inicie sesión para enviar comentarios

other contents of PEDRO NEL JIMENEZ CASTAÑEDA

Tema Títuloordenar por icono Respuestas Lecturas Último envío Idioma
Poesia/Acróstico A GILMA ELIZA URIBE U. 0 2.379 06/30/2012 - 23:15 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A GLORIA OSORNO 0 2.014 08/15/2012 - 15:45 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A ISABEL CRISTINA 0 2.890 07/09/2012 - 13:39 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A ISABEL CRISTINA 0 2.649 07/10/2012 - 13:27 Español
Poesia/Amor A JOHANNA NUEVA MADRE 0 2.447 05/04/2018 - 01:05 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A JORGE VELOSA 1 2.990 08/13/2012 - 08:05 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A LA ENFERMERA 1 21.518 04/04/2011 - 16:25 Español
Poesia/Amistad A LA ESCODIDA 0 1.533 08/05/2015 - 22:09 Español
Poesia/Amor A LA LUZ DE 0 1.049 08/03/2020 - 15:15 Español
Poesia/Amor A LA MUJER 0 1.833 01/21/2019 - 22:09 Español
Poesia/Amor A LA MUJER HOY 0 819 03/07/2021 - 22:34 Español
Poesia/Amor A LA MUJER (AMOR) 0 1.018 06/24/2012 - 04:29 Español
Poesia/Amor A LA MUJR 0 2.850 03/31/2011 - 16:39 Español
Poesia/Meditación A LA NATURALEZA 0 894 03/31/2011 - 18:24 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A LA NIÑÉZ 0 1.743 04/09/2011 - 04:25 Español
Poesia/Fantasía A LA POESÍA 0 1.401 03/31/2011 - 16:51 Español
Poesia/Meditación A LA TIERRA 2 0 1.040 08/05/2015 - 22:01 Español
Poesia/Amor A LA VIRGEN MARÍA 0 1.069 04/09/2011 - 04:02 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A LA MUJER ACRÓSTICOS 0 763 04/02/2011 - 00:41 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A LA MUJER ACRÓSTICOS 0 1.110 04/02/2011 - 00:41 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A LA PELUQUERIA ELIANA 0 1.033 04/05/2011 - 01:39 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A LAS MUJERES 0 1.162 04/02/2011 - 01:01 Español
Poesia/Erótico A LAS MUJERES FRIAS. 0 2.560 05/17/2013 - 23:39 Español
Poesia/Amor A LAS MUJERES POETAS 0 2.239 11/30/2012 - 00:41 Español
Poesia/Meditación A LAS SUEGRAS 0 2.638 03/31/2011 - 16:44 Español