ODE TO THE DEATH OF AN ARTIST
Today I decided my death.
My long unpaved opportunities led me to death.
I tried to find my artistic path and I found only death.
My country forced me into exile predicting my death.
I did not pay tariffs and fined me death.
Only few no word death.
My death comes from many sentences:
Kills signed by the jurors
Kills silenced by critics.
Kills the end of the calls.
Deaths in the doors of the fairs.
Kills in crossing the threshold:
"We received the painting here
Come back tomorrow with another portfolio
And bring your death "
Pale walls of the galleries that gave her back to painting.
Ruled his death sentence.
Red Death sprouting brushes.
Death in immaculate palette
Death on the white bed linen
Waiting for his burial in the face of the wall.
King died, king put in the room of the Museum.
The only way to grow in the art is death.
Just looking and a ladder to reach it.
I wanted to paint and I ended up finding death.