{"id":7070,"date":"2026-02-21T13:20:33","date_gmt":"2026-02-21T18:20:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/trasatlantica.org\/?page_id=7070"},"modified":"2026-02-21T13:22:04","modified_gmt":"2026-02-21T18:22:04","slug":"bruno-rios","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/trasatlantica.org\/?page_id=7070","title":{"rendered":"Bruno R\u00edos"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<div class=\"wp-block-group alignwide has-subtle-background-background-color has-background has-small-font-size\"><div class=\"wp-block-group__inner-container is-layout-constrained wp-block-group-is-layout-constrained\">\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Quiero volver<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Quiero volver al desierto<br>A la tierra bald\u00eda del alma<br>De la que habl\u00f3 mi madre<br>Como el simple y llano vagar<br>Del viento que me\u00a0<br>Recorre el rostro<br>Un ni\u00f1o peque\u00f1o\u00a0<br>Que crece<br>Bajo el sol de los veranos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Una canci\u00f3n antigua resuena<br>En el monte<br>De la memoria:<br>Estoy en lo oscuro<br>Pero conozco la oscuridad<br>Y no me atemoriza.<br>Lo oscuro es lo mismo<br>Que la luz.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Yace una llanta<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Yace una llanta en medio del r\u00edo<br>Justo ah\u00ed\u00a0<br>En la l\u00ednea imaginaria<br>De la frontera.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Me pregunto de qui\u00e9n es<br>Qui\u00e9n va a recogerla\u00a0<br>Aventarla hacia el pa\u00eds del alma<br>O jalarla un poco m\u00e1s hacia el r\u00edo<br>Como una anguila viva que muerde<br>Y significa.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Yace as\u00ed tambi\u00e9n el que migra.\u00a0<br>\u00bfQui\u00e9n recoge a los muertos?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>La \u00faltima hora<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">En la \u00faltima hora<br>La noche vuelve oscura<br>Y repleta.\u00a0<br>Andan los ni\u00f1os afuera<br>Como mariposas ciegas\u00a0<br>Sobre los pe\u00f1ascos.\u00a0<br>Un caballo observa m\u00e1s all\u00e1 de su\u00a0<br>Horizonte, sus ojos azules,<br>Y ausculta mi mirada con la suya.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">El silencio es aqu\u00ed el agua<br>Iridiscente y escasa,\u00a0<br>Lo m\u00e1s sagrado que este imperio\u00a0<br>Ha saqueado del desierto.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Me pregunto si el m\u00edo ser\u00e1, pronto,\u00a0<br>Tan hostil,\u00a0<br>Tan hermoso, d\u00f3cil<br>Y valiente,<br>Como este.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">                            Del libro in\u00e9dito <em>Desierto menor<\/em><br><br><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Bruno R\u00edos<\/p>\n<!-- PMB print buttons is only displayed on a single post\/page URLs-->","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Quiero volver Quiero volver al desiertoA la tierra bald\u00eda del almaDe la que habl\u00f3 mi madreComo el simple y llano vagarDel viento que me\u00a0Recorre el rostroUn ni\u00f1o peque\u00f1o\u00a0Que creceBajo el sol de los veranos. Una canci\u00f3n antigua resuenaEn el monteDe la memoria:Estoy en lo oscuroPero conozco la oscuridadY no me atemoriza.Lo oscuro es lo mismoQue [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":33188029,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_coblocks_attr":"","_coblocks_dimensions":"","_coblocks_responsive_height":"","_coblocks_accordion_ie_support":"","_crdt_document":"","advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-7070","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_likes_enabled":false,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/P2V8if-1Q2","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":645,"url":"https:\/\/trasatlantica.org\/?page_id=645","url_meta":{"origin":7070,"position":0},"title":"Irina Garbatzky","author":"Soviet Cuba: Identities in Transition","date":"September 12, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Irina Garbatzky El entrenamiento de la mente A veces pienso que hay una sola cosa sobre la que escribir. 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