Lea Díaz is a poet, artist and an academic. She has painted, played the piano and written poetry and fiction since she was a little girl. In addition to serving on editorial boards, Lea has published two books of poetry, and her poems have been collected in anthologies and literary magazines such as "And Then", "The Independent Literary Review", "Contemporary Literary Horizon", "Viceversa", "Hybrido", among others. She has participated in readings and literary events at McNally Jackson Bookstore, New York Public Library, Bowery Poetry Club, Poetry Project NYC, La Nacional NYC, Saphira and Ventura Gallery, Instituto Cervantes, NYC Poetry Festival, Lacuhe Fair, TAPFNY, Hispanic/Latino Book Fair in Queens. Lea is engaged in activism and has presented contributions in conferences and panels, advocating for the role the arts play in democratic systems and developing the notion of “creative democracy”. Lea deeply believes in poetic action, in the transformative nature of Poetry: Poetry can make each of us a better person and, thus, a build a better world.
POEMS
Songs for the future
I close my eyes, what a brilliant firmament!
Stars from my heart that follows the simple routines of a quiet life
The morning breaks through the fogged window during breakfast
I cross the park in silence on the way to work
And pause for a moment at the sculpture in the fountain
Under the sun, my soul wakes up, like leaves dancing in the autumn,
Flies without wings among words, that paint a different way to exist
In each step, I feel the beat of this moment.
The afternoon arrives while your words still inhabit my restless mind,
Coffee in the cup, aromas and flavors,
In the corner of the bookstore, I write in my journal songs for the future.
At dusk, as I seek for the moon in my pale bedroom, my thoughts return to you
I close my eyes with the vision of a flowing river, an unknown dream.
In my world of cherished routines, your voice calls me sweetly
Towards the radiant new.
YOGA DISTRICT
The sound of the bowls is a sort of a compact, metallic softness.
It invades the studio like a sonorous thread, a wave of light
That pierces the glass vault and expands among the ancient walls.
The gong awakens and illuminates our bodies, our inner world.
It is neither a melody nor a whisper; but a touch, a call
Towards transcendence, orchard protected by a grille
That we hardly cross, clinging tightly to material reality.
The silhouettes draw postures, harmonious movements.
We breathe to the sound of metal.
The afternoon falls
The storm shakes the university city
Thoughts are diluted with the flow of asanas
Worries dissipate oblivious
To the insistent and furious rain.
The way back is placid
We embrace the silence, the wet smell,
The night is stillness and calm
Peace reigns outside and inside
We have freed ourselves
Springtime in New York
The city is fog, glass and frost.
Also rodents that perch on asphalt and chimneys
As I walk with a frozen heart
I feel it rough, hierarchical, uneven:
An icy, imposing lady
The snow falls softly and erases my insignificant footsteps
The elongated, gloomy buildings surrounded by barren, bare parks
The winter seems to me eternal, unbearable
Like that insufferable tenant who camps out
And refuses to leave
I look for the golden ray next to the window
Some sprout or butterfly 🦋 in the courtyard
My eyes lack light, faith in the new season
That surprises us late well into May
The streets are now dressed in the colors of flowers
Fresh fragrances ooze
The sun warms and shines
Sphere, cardinal point up there that marks our destiny
Warm, kind, horizontal
I hear the whistling of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees
The sweet and loving cooing of the birds
The sighs of lovers strolling in the twilight hours in a dreamy stroll
Spontaneous celebration and jubilation. Laughter and games.
In New York, springtime is a miracle
A haven of joy and hope
The pent-up longing that life is renewed and flowing
Even in the innermost recesses of the soul.