SIN TROMPO DE PONER

SIN TROMPO DE PONER
COMPRA TU LIBRO AQUI PULSA
Loading...

OJOS LLENOS DE ABRIL

OJOS LLENOS DE ABRIL
PULSA LA IMAGEN PARA COMPRAR

SIN TROMPO DE PONER


"Los escritos de Paul Paniagua subliman el espíritu, conquistan la alegría, y nos hacen ver la vida con humor y optimismo... Desde el título, Paul Paniagua nos penetra en un espacio lúdico, inspirado en los juegos de trompos. Para el autor, el texto es una métafora de la vida.Es un liSbro original que atrapa al lector.. Estos textos hiperbreves no se pueden leer con el ceño fruncido, sino una una amplia sonrisa. " Dra. Mara L. García BYU

"Mis textos descubren el misterio de la vida, las cosas, y aún hasta en una toalla vieja o inodoro cualquiera, se desenmascara la ocasión de reír y llorar. Espero que mis textos enseñen a enfrentar la vida sin miedo; no hay razón para no ser feliz en ella. No hay excusa para no serlo ni trompo de poner alguno que tenga que pagar por nuestras culpas". Paul Jr Paniagua


SIN TROMPO DE PONER



EL INODORO


El inodoro irrumpe en protesta. Se estremece de llanto. No acepta su terrible destino. Solloza. Traga de todo. Anticipa saldar cualquier cuenta pendiente. No se da por vencido. Sufre acoso moral. Le resulta absurdo contemplar el suicidio. No se acobarda. Sigue de pie resoluto.


Wednesday, May 30, 2012

ON MOVING MOUNTAINS


From the beginning he always wanted to move mountains with his faith.  At the age of five he began by trying to move spoons, forks and marbles; later, as a teenager, he continued trying with tops and Mexican cup-and-ball toys but without success.  As an adult he attempted stones and bricks, and still no success.  He studied the Torah, Kabbalah, the Quran, the Gospels, and a hundred different philosophical systems . . . but still he never managed to move anything from anywhere.  Everywhere he went he would try moving an object, because he knew that with a bit of faith the size of a mustard seed he could move a mountain.  At least thats what hed been told.  
What he really wanted was to move Mt. Everest to the Mojave Desert and do away with the inferno where he lived.  He tried strengthening his faith by doing push-ups, squatting on his haunches, meditating afternoons and evenings.  He would close his eyes and gesticulate with his hands as if he were levitating the highest Himalayan ranges and transporting them through the sky without causing an accident or earthquake in the attempt. Then he would draw the curtain of his bedroom to see if it had worked.  He would open his eyes and open them again, hoping to see that eternal mountain but . . . nothing; everything stayed where it had always been.  The failures accumulated and he never did learn to move mountains, although the desire never left him.  
As a last recourse, he joined the first church he could find that promised to increase his faith to the monumental dimensions required.  Nothing of the kind happened. Not even a modest hill, as far as can be ascertained.  In light of this disappointment he suspended the effort and decided instead to improve the air conditioning in his spacious home and take in every orphaned child he could find to save them from the sweltering desert heat.  Next he founded a clinic to rehabilitate drug addicts who were on the verge of suicide.  He dedicated the rest of his life to building hospitals and orphanages.  He even rescued giraffes and snakes.  He saved a life here, another life there, a home here, a home there, for the rest of his days.  People began seeking him out, leaving everything behind to follow him.  People came down from the hills and mountains, from villages and towns, even whole cities came looking for him. 
He never moved mountains; they ended up moving themselves.  People loved him for his faith, of whatever size it was.  It all happened without him realizing itcommitted, doing good the only way he knew how.  It never occurred to him that mountains have feet and hands, and that they walk from town to town smiling from ear to ear.  Nor did he think people could steal his heart as he served and loved the poor.  Mountains flocked to him endlessly.


Translation by Prof. David Rock

2 comments:

  1. Hola PAUL JR PANIAGUA,
    Yo soy Bruno Ramos, y gustaria de invitarlo a participar en una antología de poemas de forma gratuita, a fin de honrar el poeta Affonso Romano. Sólo el envío de un poema a este e-mail: brunoescritor@yahoo.com.br
    Usted recibirá una copia por derechos de autor gatuito, y se difundirá a otros poetas de Brasil. 
    Libro: "La complicidad de las letras" Organizador: Bruno Ramos
    Honrado: Affonso Romano.
    Vamos con el proyecto!

    ReplyDelete