Poesia (20.3)

Gavetas

Angústia guardada de um amor

Vivido.

Incerto futuro

E arrependido passado;

Minha história contada,

Meus contos revirados,

Minha fala cansada,

Meus olhos lavados.

Do que manda ou desmanda,

Daquilo que deveria ser

Mas acabou não sendo,

Daqui que foi

Mesmo sem ter muito tempo.

Minhas mãos trêmulas.

Do lado de cá do peito

Uma gaveta apertada

Que guarda quieto e sem jeito

Uma vida desregrada.

Mas não só de lembranças sou feito

E talvez vá-se indo melhor

Toda essa história

Mal contada

Melhor que guardar na gaveta

Essa eterna culpa

Velada.

Poesia (20.2)

Cardiac Arrest

My heart has been beating to

A different set of drums lately.

Inexplicable as it may sound

No idea comes to mind

When deep thinking is put

Through my useless conscience.

Little do I know

On heart issues

(Or specificities

Should I better name

Them)

And less even do I wonder

About each hug given

On stage.

Each of those two hugs

That so distant seamed

But so warm made my heart.

Love is not what moves me,

Dare I to know what is then.

Just sure of my heart

I am

And how brave it remains

Even being stuck

In such a small cage

That is my chest

Just of my heart I am sure

And just of his pain

For being told what to do
And whose oxygen should he drain.

Poesia (20.1)

Brightest Star

Through my caged window

I can still see

Your glow.

It comes alone

And at my face

It spreads.

Showing me

The paths we must walk

Altogether

You,

My little star,

Has pulled me up

And lighten me

With your kind

And tender love.

I stood still

For you not to go

But the day has come

At last

And see you

I could not any longer.

At the time

Little did I know

That my brightest star

Could shine

Within my soul

And be so bright

But so bright

That only by my door

It would hold;

As with all my heart,

Our love,

Our path,

And our goals.

Poesia (20.0)

Coming Back to Death

My oldest friend,

As you may know

Such thing should only be here

In order to keep me moving

But it has become a necessary aspect

Of this life that has been lived for me.

Sadness and this anguished feeling take over

And my so-called art comes out.

My dear, you see,

Dark and dirty

Such as my hands

Covered in blood,

Thick

Dark

Old

Poor

Blood of mine

That runs away

Despite all requests,

That runs away

Trying to find peace

Anywhere but home.

Friend, all I know now is that

Resurrecting as you wish

Seems to be an act of selfishness

But instead of making an effort

To live after dying

I’ve chosen to die after living.

My resurrection, so,

Happens through pain

And only pain itself

Can make this life

Livable.

Poesia (19.9)

Solitude And His Face

Like the pain.

Feel it underneath your eye.

I went looking.

I found.

I cried.

I couldn’t stop.

It was too painful not to look.

Like an accident on the road,

I was the driver that,

Willingly,

Slows down the speed

To see a dead,

Or almost dead,

Body.

His pictures were to be seen.

My blood was to be spilled, so.

The solitude that my body goes through

Is unimaginable

Since I cannot unseen

What I just saw.

Shadows cover his face briefly

And I am,

As for to speak,

Covered in my own solitude.

Thought about reaching the phone,

Calling you instead of crying wolf on the floor.

My hand couldn’t bear the weight of a call.

At one point my eyes dried,

Suffering with the sight of you two together,

You were with him

When you swore at the moon

And all the stars in my celling

That you would love me

And myself only

For a good and long eternity.

Now eternal is my pain.

And there is nothing you can do

To erase the past

That is carved in my eyes.

Those green beacons that you once swore

To be light in your dark way,

Beacons that I hope to guide me

Out of my solitude.