domingo, 26 de junho de 2011

Box











I'm not much of a poet,
I'd say
If I let you escape.

I'm not much of a poet
If u who are my dearest reader
Will not get a chance
To contemplate my inner self,
This true recollage of fragments
I try to alter, I try to fix
But there ain't no fixing
In the middle of the night
Without creation.

I'm not much of a poet
If I only want some hugs
Or a couple old words
to exchange without
Your loving smile,
The sweetest I could
Ever dream about.

I'm not much of a human,
If I cannot change,
And I might be able
To still seize a chance.

I'm not much of a man
If I travel the world
South and around
Just to find you
And keep on hiding
everything behind
These blue pale eyes
of yours, and mine.

I'm not much of a friend
If I consciously try
To erase all the good memories
You had of me, and I do that
Again and again and again,
And I don't put a stop
To this acting like
My own lonely God.

I'm not much of a writer
If I don't share my experiences
With those I am passionate about.
I don't feel myself fit for the reading
Of actions or pretensions of any kind.

If I want your hearing,
It's just for the sake
Of voicing your soul
And reminding you
How much I care
About us
and all the moments
You have spent
Thinking of me.

My story only exists
within your memories,
After all and the sands.
And I really want them
To shine like the crazy diamonds
They are all meant to be.

For you who are
The dearest listener
Of my silences and choices,
And who still believes I can pull
A trick or two
Out of Pandora's .

quinta-feira, 2 de junho de 2011

Sparkling eyes




















Consciente, inconsciente,
A tempestade que se anuncia
Cerebral, visceral.
As partículas, sólido-luz
Onda arrebatadora que seduz.
A alma em bordas lunares,
Os frascos de sol e trigo,
A sacerdotisa do dia
A se partir em meios
Fragmentos, meridianos,
Lunetas, caleidoscópios.

Esse olhar desfoque,
Que te vê e te induz.
Esse descompasso
Entre viver e não saber,
Surpreender, perceber..
As cores da Lua
Que a gente veste
De súbitos e vermelhos
E eclipses em constantes.

O apagar de estar ao teu lado
E não verbalizar, por assim
Me encontrar, tão distante.
As faíscas traunsentes
A magnetizarem-se em ti,
Elétrica proximidade.

Insensata essa liberdade
De te falar em silêncios...
A urgência dessas palavras
Que não surgem dos lábios.
A imanência destas outras,
Cravadas em versos inquietos.
As tuas leituras a relampejar
O que teus olhos já sabem:

Em devaneio e desejar,
Ecos de não escolher
E talvez te despertar...