Sometimes we look but do not see,
even though we are looking; such things happen.
Sometimes we are so blind that we don’t notice how others look at us.
Sometimes there are gazes that devour us with so much love,
and yet we live in another world. Sometimes we are loved so deeply,
and we don’t realize it. Loving gazes are condensed love.
They say that eyes can speak, and sometimes silence cries out.
Sometimes screams don’t need words.
Sometimes we are so blind that we don’t see what surrounds us.
Sometimes love walks right beside us, and our heart doesn’t even look at it.
We are so absorbed in our own lives that we don’t even look into other eyes.
We complain that love never reaches us, while love is calling out to us.
Sometimes love knocks at our door and we pretend not to hear it.
There are so many looks full of love that no one manages to see.
There are people who devour us with all the tenderness of their love,
yet we keep walking blindly through life, without looking.
While miracles pass us by unnoticed,
sometimes we write poems of blind complaints,
because love is blind only when we refuse to truly see.
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A veces miramos y no vemos, a pesar de mirar; son cosas que pasan.
A veces estamos tan ciegos que no vemos cómo nos miran.
A veces hay miradas que nos devoran con tanto amor,
y sin embargo nosotros vivimos en otro mundo.
A veces nos quieren tanto y no lo vemos.
Las miradas de amor son amor condensado.
Dicen que las miradas pueden hablar,
y a veces los silencios claman.
A veces los gritos no necesitan palabras.
A veces estamos tan ciegos que no vemos alrededor.
A veces el amor pasa a nuestro lado y nuestro corazón ni lo mira.
Estamos tan absortos en nuestra vida que ni miramos a otros ojos.
Nos quejamos de que no nos llega el amor, y el amor está llamándonos.
A veces el amor llama a nuestra puerta y nos hacemos los sordos.
Hay tantas miradas llenas de amor que nadie logra ver.
Hay quien nos devora con toda la ternura de su amor,
pero seguimos ciegos, andando por la vida sin mirar.
Mientras los milagros pasan de largo por no verlos,
a veces hacemos poemas de quejas ciegas,
porque el amor es ciego por no mirar bien.
-----
Parfois, nous regardons sans voir, même en regardant, ce sont des choses qui arrivent.
Parfois, nous sommes tellement aveugles que nous ne voyons pas comment on nous regarde.
Parfois, il y a des regards qui nous dévorent d’amour, et pourtant nous vivons dans un autre monde.
Parfois, on nous aime tellement et nous ne le voyons pas. Les regards d’amour sont de l’amour condensé.
On dit que les regards peuvent parler, et parfois les silences crient.
Parfois, les cris n’ont pas besoin de mots.
Parfois, nous sommes tellement aveugles que nous ne voyons pas ce qui nous entoure.
Parfois, l’amour passe à côté de nous et notre cœur ne le regarde même pas.
Nous sommes tellement absorbés par notre propre vie que nous ne regardons même plus d’autres yeux.
Nous nous plaignons que l’amour ne vient pas à nous, alors qu’il est en train de nous appeler.
Parfois, l’amour frappe à notre porte et nous faisons les sourds.
Il y a tant de regards pleins d’amour que personne ne parvient à voir.
Il y a des êtres qui nous dévorent avec toute la tendresse de leur amour,
mais nous continuons à marcher aveugles dans la vie, sans regarder.
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https://soundcloud.com/c-a-227701003/nous-regardons-sans-voir
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Author:
Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS (
Offline) - Published: April 3rd, 2026 06:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange

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Comments3
Carlos this is such a lovely write that turns the tables and puts the responsibility right back where it belongs on our shoulders. Well written
This is an ancient poem I have rescued for my little operetta, composed for my narcissistic self—though the truth is, since I haven't the means to attend the opera, it occurred to me to compose a French operetta as syrupy and kitsch as I am. Pure romanticism...
Thank you for your comments.
You are most welcome Carlos
nicely done. Your poem explores the theme of unrecognized love and the blindness that often comes with being preoccupied with one's own life.
Carlos, I’ve been there…missing what was right beside me while thinking it was absent. That kind of blindness isn’t loud, it’s quiet…and you captured that clearly. Strong piece. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
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