Almost seven days

•14/03/2019 • Leave a Comment


Almost seven days living in the dark, with the brightest sun shining away right above our heads. Almost seven days yearning to cry out for help in any of the languages I know. Days when I saw people fighting over water at the banks of the most polluted river that runs through this capital, to drink from, to bathe, to keep dragging their miserable lives for just a few more days. A mother, carrying the remains of her malnourished teenage daughter to the only functional morgue in town, by then already overflowing with rotting and exploding corpses, on foot, with noble composure, resigned and stoical, through the winding solitude of these streets. People gathering around dumpsters to find a decent piece of edible matter to keep surviving in the one of the world’s richest nations. The head of a jaguar appeared in one of those dumpsters and I can only imagine the conversations upon the finding as to the best ways to cook such head and continue the macabre feast. Children and elders dropping dead like flies, living in subhuman conditions resembling “La Miseria” by Cristóbal Rojas; doctors operating with the flashlights of their mobiles as the only source of illumination, a maneuver already mastered by those working in public hospitals on a regular basis. Journalists being kidnapped, tortured and threatened in the cruelest ways imaginable, loved ones living abroad vomiting their anguish each time the word “Venezuela” came up on the news. My own mother breaking down in tears when she finally saw me and her granddaughter after almost four days of being out of reach from each other, even though we live in the same city. Almost seven days of isolation when my spirit broke even further, when the last rays of hope withered under this relentless sun of ours, when an implosion left me impaired to hear the noises out there, the calls of those crying for help just like I was, my voice is breaking and I can no longer plod on. My surroundings are made of quicksand and my strength has slipped from my fingers. I do not speak any language anymore, mine is nothing but the unintelligible utterance of despair.


Mariana Antúnez (2019 blackout)



•25/02/2019 • Leave a Comment

Thinking of you with the persistence of the thunderstorm

loving you with the intensity of a roaring engine

looking at you with longing, idealizing eyes

kissing you in the midst of my devastating solitude

deconstructing this love with obstinate methodology

with the backdrop of a classic piano

with callous feet stepping on the hottest of coals.

A love restrained

breathing puffs of futility

forever confined

to the cage of my ribs.



Mariana Antúnez (2019)

Nothing to wear

•26/09/2018 • Leave a Comment

–  “But, I have nothing to wear!”, he heard as he closed the lid upon her.

The husband then decided on a closed-casket funeral.


Mariana Antúnez (2018)


•10/09/2018 • Leave a Comment



There is a war

on the other side of my door

explosions of lightning

squandered in your eyes

the debris amalgamating

with the grays of your mustache


I know those scars

your scars,

and I know them well:

the thunder in your forehead

the road map of keloids

on your right arm

the lashings on your back


From your beard

the ashes migrate to my pubis

stoical and short-sighted


Push me against

that corner lighted with neon

to faint between your legs

between the uproar of the bombs

and the scandal of your thighs


Get me out of this dress,

to yell, in between moans,

at that god, ever so silent.

Let us be lovers

for the war

raging out there,

to hurt a little less.


Mariana Antúnez (2018)

Red sea

•29/08/2018 • Leave a Comment


Standing by your sea

parting in two,

splashes of salt

encrusted in me

riddled me with moon

and lacerating fury


I make my way

through the morbid crack

red, like my feet

wounded in blood and stars

retracing your steps

fumbling for you

in the darkest corners of my shadow


my mouth full of sand

my voice misspelled in stone

you disappear

the sea reunites

the waves crash down on me

and it is there

in the current of your embrace

where I have found salvation


Mariana Antúnez (2018)

Photo: “The Fouth Horseman” by Gustave Dore


•26/08/2018 • Leave a Comment

Dreaming of you

is to face the brutality of your absence,

is waking up with a sunken chest

and on the verge of tears.


This stillborn poem

also misses you,

although it is impossible to miss

this void that we have always been:

you    and    I.


Mariana Antúnez (2018)



•12/08/2018 • Leave a Comment

When I want to escape

I write transversely

never in cursive

my words, completely free from all constraints.


In the end,

only they hold the freedom

to breathe and live on my paper,

outside of me.

I watch them through the glass of my misfortunes,

while the last traces of my existence

are bled out by my sharpened pencil.


Mariana Antúnez (2018)