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 11 horas 48 mins
Integró: 03/24/2011
Posts:
Points: 5713

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/Amor ( QUE OJOS ) 0 82 05/16/2020 - 22:30 Español
Poesia/Acróstico ACRÓSTICO A SOFÍA 0 194 05/18/2020 - 01:54 Español
Poesia/Tristeza Y POR AHÍ SALE. 0 130 05/24/2020 - 20:30 Español
Poesia/Dedicada !OÍDOS PUEBLO! ANTIOQUEÑO 0 292 03/29/2020 - 23:47 Español
Poesia/Meditación "ESE TAL FAMOSO VAR" 0 1.063 06/26/2018 - 14:07 Español
Poesia/Meditación "SEÑORES PERIODISTAS" 0 1.078 03/17/2012 - 22:40 Español
Poesia/Meditación 'QUÉ VENGO A SER YO? 0 1.965 08/17/2018 - 23:56 Español
Poesia/Dedicada 1970 LAS ACACIAS 2.012 0 1.000 06/22/2012 - 17:17 Español
Poesia/Meditación A DIOS GRACIAS 0 1.829 08/20/2012 - 16:42 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A ELLA 0 2.074 03/05/2016 - 00:22 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A AMELIA HERNÁNDEZ 0 1.036 07/10/2012 - 13:34 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A AMPARO RESTREPO H. 0 1.479 07/08/2012 - 14:45 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A AVES MARÍA 0 2.057 04/05/2011 - 01:52 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A BERTA LIGIA SANCHEZ H. 0 1.492 06/30/2012 - 23:17 Español
Poesia/Meditación A CAIDO OTRO 0 2.750 07/11/2012 - 01:30 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A CARMEN ELISA MONTOYA 0 1.475 08/16/2012 - 00:18 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A DAVÍD (MI NIETO) 0 1.110 12/17/2011 - 23:47 Español
Poesia/Cumpleaños A DÑA. ESNEDA 0 1.072 01/21/2019 - 22:16 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A DOÑA DIOSANA VASQUEZ 0 1.069 02/12/2017 - 01:35 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A DOÑA DIOSANA VASQUEZ (CORREGIDA) 0 953 02/18/2017 - 18:45 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A DORA Y LEVIA 0 971 07/10/2012 - 13:30 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A EL TEATRICO 1 1.347 07/20/2012 - 15:09 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A EL TEATRICO ACRÓSTICO 0 1.870 07/18/2012 - 13:38 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A ELIANA JIMÉNEZ BOBADILLA. 0 1.239 03/03/2019 - 00:08 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A GILMA ELIZA URIBE U. 0 1.702 06/30/2012 - 23:15 Español