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/Amistad A VER QUERIDA PERSONERA 0 1.442 01/27/2020 - 23:01 Español
Poesia/Amistad A VER AMIGO ROSENDO 0 1.139 10/08/2019 - 18:22 Español
Poesia/Meditación A VER MADURO H. P. 0 1.470 02/24/2019 - 21:25 Español
Poesia/Meditación A VER MI DIOS. 0 1.737 12/09/2019 - 04:43 Español
Poesia/Aforismo A VER TE CUENTO. 0 2.202 05/09/2020 - 20:37 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A VICTORIA MACIAS 0 1.309 08/23/2012 - 16:11 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A ZULEMA QUINTERO 0 3.144 08/23/2012 - 16:09 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A EL AGUA 0 3.928 03/24/2011 - 21:33 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A JENNIFER AGUDELO QUINTERO 0 3.121 12/14/2012 - 16:12 Español
Poesia/Alegria A LA ELECCIÓN. PRESIDENCIAL USA. 0 1.031 11/08/2020 - 23:36 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A LA TIERRA 0 1.967 03/24/2011 - 21:36 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A LA VIDA 0 571 11/27/2011 - 14:28 Español
Poesia/Canción A LAS ACACIAS (CANCIÓN) 0 1.247 12/21/2011 - 17:15 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A LUIS FERNANDO MONTOYA 0 669 04/09/2011 - 01:42 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A MARHTA ZUINT 0 2.321 05/22/2012 - 15:33 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A MARÍA ELENA SALDARRIAGA G. 1 2.150 08/13/2012 - 08:07 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A MARIANITO Y POR QUÉ 0 1.136 04/05/2011 - 02:14 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A MI ENFERMERA 0 1.658 01/09/2012 - 15:41 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A MI HIJO LEONARDO 0 2.501 06/01/2020 - 09:22 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A MI MADRE Y ABUELA 0 2.230 12/21/2011 - 17:20 Español
Poesia/Acróstico A MIGUEL (MI NIETO) 0 946 12/17/2011 - 23:54 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A SABANETA 0 957 04/09/2011 - 01:49 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A TI PERLA NEGRA 0 595 05/03/2011 - 19:09 Español
Poesia/Dedicada A TI VIVA 0 995 11/27/2011 - 14:14 Español
Poesia/Erótico A TUS PIERNAS 0 3.059 03/24/2011 - 01:58 Español