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 - 22:10

Poesia :

Sin votos aún

PEDRO NEL JIMENEZ CASTAÑEDA

Imagen de PEDRO NEL JIMENEZ CASTAÑEDA
Desconectado
Título: Membro
Last seen: Hace 4 días 5 horas
Integró: 03/24/2011
Posts:
Points: 5628

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/Meditación SI HABLAMOS SERIAMENTE 0 571 07/21/2014 - 01:21 Español
Poesia/Dedicada SI HABLAR DE POETAS 0 899 06/25/2012 - 13:27 Español
Poesia/Dedicada SI LO DICES TÚ 0 1.192 03/26/2015 - 03:15 Español
Poesia/Desilusión SI ME QUIERES DEJAR 0 1.102 04/25/2019 - 23:28 Español
Poesia/Amor SI NO FUER POR ÉL 0 1.370 06/30/2015 - 02:24 Español
Poesia/Dedicada SI NO SABEIS LO QUE TIENES 0 529 06/17/2012 - 01:53 Español
Poesia/Amor SI NO TE NACE 0 426 04/09/2011 - 05:11 Español
Poesia/Meditación SI PIERDES 0 513 11/03/2017 - 02:28 Español
Poesia/Canción SI QUIERES PAGARME 0 1.018 01/18/2014 - 01:39 Español
Poesia/Amor SI SE PIERDE 0 943 08/19/2014 - 14:48 Español
Poesia/Amor SI SUPIERAS QUE QUISIERA 0 702 04/09/2011 - 04:25 Español
Poesia/Amor SI TE RECUERDO 0 166 04/06/2020 - 22:12 Español
Poesia/Amor SI TÚ SILENCIO 0 235 08/31/2017 - 14:58 Español
Poesia/Amistad SI UNA AMISTAD 0 1.000 06/30/2018 - 04:01 Español
Poesia/Meditación SI YA LO HABÍA PENSADO 0 517 01/27/2013 - 18:32 Español
Poesia/Desilusión SI YA ME GANÉ 0 779 05/09/2018 - 00:20 Español
Poesia/Amor SI YA NO PUEDES 0 842 04/09/2011 - 05:10 Español
Poesia/Erótico SI YA LO HEMOS VIVIDO 0 1.006 10/30/2012 - 15:00 Español
Poesia/Meditación SI YO FUERA 0 438 11/25/2012 - 02:03 Español
Poesia/Meditación SI YO FUERA 0 746 11/25/2012 - 02:05 Español
Poesia/Amor SI YO SUPIERA 0 665 04/29/2015 - 01:14 Español
Poesia/Amistad SI YO TUVIERA 0 763 02/03/2017 - 23:15 Español
Poesia/Amor SI COMO PADRE (A LA MADRE) 0 803 05/09/2011 - 01:30 Español
Poesia/Dedicada SI ES QUE QUIERES 0 757 03/30/2011 - 18:12 Español
Poesia/Amor SI ES QUE TIENES UNA DUDA 0 385 01/05/2012 - 16:06 Español