the few lines on his forehead
the eyes he never shows
the things he sees he hands me
in well disposed rows

i sow a sunflower seed
and it perishes so fast
i wonder who could i blame
and i know my love won't last

i seek a place in quietness
where people used to rest
the alcatraz is empty and
then i'm alone at last

i switch on the machinery
and careful press the keys
wherever his mind wanders
he takes me in his breeze

1.
the child knows
that ghosts
are bulletproof, she shuts
the panes and does not sleep.


2.
"I am the rosy peach of winter-time,
to carry sweetness is my crime"
the father recited
this rhyme
uninvited

3.
taken by the hand
by her grand frère
child, kiss my lips
and say your prayer

4.
child rests in silky beams
of autumn that has come in dreams
the ghost still waiting by the wall
on his book of nightmares he does scrawl

every winter you have hated
all the times you left your body
and when a white ghost broke your bones

i was standing in the mowed lawn
looking at the piece of sky
that i am sure you would have bought me
as a birthday present...
and everytime i blew my candles
i was wishing you would stay.



[mais um poema antigo. agosto de 2006. não estava no arquivo ainda.]

something grows
inside of me-
a son i did not wish-

deprived of eyes
it has no hair
it looks so red
and demonic
it holds my veins
and chews my bones
it is nature's calamity

it cannot think for itself
but it kills me tenderly
it is trying to exist
inside me -but separately

the undesired child
claims i am its father
and it wants me
for a mother, too-
it wants the air i breathe

above the pines the stars
above them, the unknown
we will soon move
beyond the cloud
there we will reside
my child, i, my great misfortune
and all we leave behind.



[outro poema que não havia postado, também de 29 de agosto de 2007]

the lady
is ready
for her bath

her toes
are curling
she's hungry,
she's getting
the feeling
she's healing

she wanted
the bathers
to stay
for much longer

but now
the garden
the front porch
the bathhouse
are empty
and white

her body
so softly
becoming
so wide

she turns into
buildings
and bushes
and tide

the lady
does not want to
get her hair wet
she has it
well hidden-
the back of her neck

her eyes
her insides
are mending
and bending

and she cannot
breathe cause
the water
is deep
and in it
she has gotten
both of her feet

she's locked in
the bathhouse
with the
slimy ghost forms

she's fading
she's fainting
the voices of men
of women
of lovers
of ghostly omens

the lady
is ready
to get away from
the body
the dirt
the slippery foam

she walks out
on quiet steps
she crosses
the door

she now is
an image
of stillness
of grace

she's an unfinished
painting
can never
be framed

she lives in
a memory
of quieter times

the lady
who got wet
both of her feet

the lady
who's drowning
alone in her sleep




[texto que ainda não tinha postado no blog, de 29 de agosto de 2007]

braços movendo
suas armas
o som é uma desculpa

sobre as luzes
das ruas
o último andar
suas armas
se movem, seus braços
acenam

seu corpo
-escamas contra
luzes-
dança
meus olhos
dançam
na desculpa
de um som

it was morning and there was sun, silence and suffering. like any other town, in Sawol all streets were black, houses were yellow with locked doors and gates, and the people were walking and working and wearing worn out looks on their blank faces that day. the horses pulling the carriages of litter along the streets did not look pleased. the neighbourhood's parrots and parakeets were shedding human tears inside their cages. there was quietness on the streets, and all you could hear were steps of human feet and engines of the few cars that roamed about the borough. on the porches, driveways and gardens there were cats pulling out their hair with their teeth and meowing in pain and dejection. the spiders, the ants, the bees, the flies, the fireflies and the mosquitos were nowhere to be seen, and the snails carried broken shells up the walls and gates slower than usual. the water had blackened in every fish tank in every living room or waiting room or fish store in town. wild birds of yellow, black, green and blue fell from the sky and from their nests on trees, filling the streets and sidewalks with the stench of death. the butterflies lost their wings all at the same time and the caterpillars dried out and shrunk to the size of the dying potato beetles and ladybirds. people's dogs had tragic faces as their chicks, roosters and hens choked and tumbled down all over the warm grass of the backyards.
the rats, the mice and even the town's hamsters were vanquished mysteriously without the help of traps or poisoned bait. an awful display could be seen on the only lake there was in the area; the swans floated tumbled with their throats tied in knots as the ducks bled into the once crystalline water, and the coy fish drifted shattered around the other bodies.
the termites that were eating the town from the inside managed to survive for a while, but soon lost their tiny minds. insanity also took over the pigs that used to share the backyards to the houses with the egg laying birds, and eventually their heads came to convulse and explode.
reasons were just reasons, and, as usual, remained undisclosed. the people accepted the unexplained torment promptly, never assuming it to be some variety of heavenly punishment. that month during which all life in Sawl slowly withered was never spoken of ever again, and the inhabitants kept on living their lives as if nothing had happened.