mort mot juste

setembro 17, 2006

warmth

we live inside a lie womb-shaped.

maria 6:52 PM 2 vociferando estavam

setembro 15, 2006

no title

feared by all, our king was the tallest, the bravest.
he had to look down to talk to his people,
such a strange thing i know, but they never seemed to move, and looked so stiff.
he would make them bend their back, somehow i could never understand.
he was bigger than all animals and could take their lives with his heavy sword,
anytime he wanted, his wishes were granted by the shiny gods of the ceiling sky.
his green cape would stand out, no matter how wild the colors seemed
and to me they seemed specially blurry that afternoon,
not sure i told you it was hot, a window was wide open, i held a drink and sighed like a lover.
there was light all over the room, the carpet felt warm when i touched it with bare feet.
and the king...
i truly believed his golden crown would never ever break or lose its shine.
well, they all did too, we all did.
the wind would cause his cape to lift, and move.
i watched from afar, such a graceful scene for a painting, i'd love to have the ability to
draw the great king's portrait, i remember that's exactly what i thought.
(oh he had the grace, the grace of a heron, yet the feathers lost on flight were mine, and mine only.)
the monarch got tired of everything so fast, chopped the heads off the royalty,
gave his throne away to the first nobody who crossed his way.
he sat on the floor, and whispered such a silly lullaby, i felt ashamed for him.
everyone thought that the king had gone mad. the kingdom wept.
after flooding the village with salty tears, everyone was tired yet hopeful.
the last doctor's annoucement made them look down at their feet in sadness,
nightfall brought silence and sleep, the streets were finally empty.
i finished my drink, i suppose. don't rely on memories, the mind is rather deceitful..
the walk home was short and my mind was pleasantly blank.
people began to lock the front doors to their houses, i could see a few stars between the clouds.
i felt a raindrop on my shoulder, then another. i tasted the rain, and i must have been
insane there for a moment, because i can assure you it tasted as saline as the sea.
the king closed his eyes and waited for brand new dreams.
his mother's green old skirt lay wrinkled on a chair, underneath a sword made of blue plastic.

maria 8:22 PM 0 vociferando estavam

setembro 09, 2006

o grito de redenção de uma formiga

pessoas da luz do sol, onde se escondem da cegueira temporária, das goteiras, dos buracos na madeira do chão?
quanta chuva é necessária para que fechem suas janelas?

por que suas lógicas e justificativas, perfeitas em engano, sussurram agora impuras e dispersas em cada encontro entre duas paredes?

e se apagaram as luzes, era pra fingir a solenidade confortável de uma tempestade.
e se nos dirigiram sopros com palavras, era para que acreditássemos no tempo e em quanto tempo um ser vivo demora para perceber que está vivo.

mesmo depois de morto.

depois de alimentar a todos os filhos do sol, a névoa se recolhe e restam espaços a mudar de cor. fios elétricos emaranhados sobre uma mesa, poças de lama do outro lado. e que esperam mais da pobreza do solo, dos olhos cansados dos amigáveis desconhecidos?

nas suas varandas o pouso de algum animal encharcado, suas bocas sempre brilhantes e rígidas, por que não se mexem?

por favor, movam-se, e respirem o que sobrou depois da água.



avisamos a todos eles, e então o quê?

maria 6:47 PM 3 vociferando estavam



ao rés da fala