Ernesto Cisneros Cino
Musician · Digital Artist · Writer
Ernesto Cisneros Cino
Art, Poetry & Philosophy
Flaying free
I close my eyes to the ocean's grin,
Wings of thought stir deep within.
The wind writes riddles on my skin,
Each wave a ghost of where I've been.
I'm flying free through ruins and foam,
In skies no god would call their home.
No chains, no script, no sacred ties,
Just breathless lift, and open skies.
The sea wears masks of mirrored glass,
It hums in tongues I let drift past.
Above, the stars ignite like scars,
Maps of truth in fractured stars.
The moon forgets, the stars mislead,
Yet I pursue what makes me bleed.
Through burning dusk, through velvet screams,
I chase the edge of broken dreams.
The world unfolds, becomes disguise,
A silent fire behind my eyes.
A whisper grazes the edge of thought.
It doesn’t seek to persuade, only to let light slip through.
A gentle trace opening the way, as if truth were something you hearonly when everything else falls silent.
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Dust Born of Stars
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I walk beneath a cold design,
Where ancient fires refuse to shine.
The void hums quiet, sharp, divine,
A riddle carved in spacetime’s spine.
​
I feel the pull of distant flame,
A sigh inscribed without a name.
Chaos sings in shifting tides,
Yet something living still resides.
​
The stars collapse, return to dust,
Their light a vow they learn to trust.
Debris and silence intertwine,
And still we rise from their decline.
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A fragile spark on borrowed breath,
We bloom between decay and death.
A fleeting chance, a trembling plea,
A pulse defying entropy.
​
The cosmos swells with silent schemes
That fracture into molten dreams.
And here we stand, unlikely, small,
A miracle adrift in all.
​
The universe looks through our eyes,
And in its gaze we realize
We are its question, shaped by light,
Carried through the endless night.
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Flashes
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Fire never asks for permission.
Silence screams just the same.
Reality bleeds.
​
No one remembers the first to fall quiet.
Everyone remembers the first to run.
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Exile is a country you carry.
Nostalgia is the dictatorship of memory.
I write or I burn.
I play to set silence on fire.
​
To love is to disobey death.
A nation can fit inside a scar.
A universe inside a gaze that refuses.
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Obedience is the cheapest drug.
Power is calculation.
The wound is its antidote.
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I am a child of noise.
I am a father of echo.
I am a grandson of nothing.
​
Do not search for metaphors:
blood is blood.
hunger is hunger.
fear is fear.
​
Whoever offers you eternity wants your chain.
Whoever offers you forgetting wants your corpse.
No tyranny is deeper than habit.
No miracle greater than being here.
​
Every word is a bullet.
Every verse a match.
Every silence gasoline.
Strike!