terça-feira, 31 de janeiro de 2017

Force of nature

You are so beautiful… You advance and you retreat, singing such sweet song; dark and bright, high and flat, smooth and furious…

I come to you and you come to me - I heard your whisper and, closing my eyes, let you touch me, stroke me. I forgot how the most exquisite things on this earth and above it can be dangerous.

You made me like it and want it; I wanted more of this and of you. My feet went further, bringing me into you and pouring you all over me… Even when your whisper shifted into a roar, all I did was to bare my figure and soul for you, handing them over to these coldly smooth fingers of yours.

I am fearless, I burn, I turn blind and damn the consequences. You knew it all, for you are perhaps the most unpredictable force of nature. You dug into my pores and cleansed me from my shame as well as you took my peace away.

You are who you are; how cruel! Soon you swallowed me whole and my open eyes were shown your depths, always so dark and well-hidden. No wonder people fear you and are taught to respect you, even if they don’t know you. No wonder most are dazzled by you and your power.

I learned it in the worst way, like many have and shall; you made me forget my part of the bargain and the price was high. It always is.

You drowned me, knowing I can’t swim, sucked the air from my lungs and spat me out like rubbish or a bone you chewed, but was out of meat already.

I tasted your salt and learned my lesson. It’s of little use warning others of what you can do - I was there before and am aware of your allure. As did I, they go at their own risk.

You no longer hold such power over me; sitting to stare at you once in a blue moon feels more than enough. After all, your touch is so cold, but you are so beautiful still…

segunda-feira, 30 de janeiro de 2017

Autodestruição

O tal amor
e a humanidade
tiveram um caso
e dele saiu
um monstro cruel -
não tenho culpa
ou mesmo escolha;
nasci para devorar
e deixar-me consumir.

sábado, 28 de janeiro de 2017

Self-consciousness

Are we more
what we choose
or more what
the real life
forces us into?

I know nothing
of this world -
well, not yet.

A girl so little;
should I really
dare to consider
myself a poet?

Was this my call
or the will of
the almighty gods
as means to build
or perhaps expand
this tiny universe
which I was given?

Either way,
I was never
really fond
of labels -
I shall be
my own maker.

sexta-feira, 27 de janeiro de 2017

In the making

I may be on the way
of making me a “who”,
but I reckon I know
the “hows” that burn me…

Is that enough
for a start,
I wonder?

quinta-feira, 26 de janeiro de 2017

As my monarch commands

You should know
that only those
with bold heart
dare to gaze
a king's eye,
opening their arms
to the blaze
which turns day
jet black night...

quarta-feira, 25 de janeiro de 2017

Cremação

Se do pó mesmo vim
e a ele voltarei,
o que desejo a mim -
mais que mero pó
eu me tornarei.

O cruel tempo
não me terá
como alimento
em sua incompleta
lentidão...

Que meu maior alento
seja permitir logo
que o velho fogo
que abrasa meu coração
em morte me consuma -
final rendição
feita de nobre cinza.

terça-feira, 24 de janeiro de 2017

A higher bid

By experience I was shown
with the lowest blow
that to the god of Poesy
and all beloved muses,
as sign of worship or courtesy
prayers are, alone,
no longer enough.

As it seems, they enjoy the bluff
always taking more than giving
in so little mercy
requiring even more
than heart and soul -
all I claim to be
to take me to my goal.

Causers of such sore
when the whispers fade
wiped in torture of the mind
if not obliged right on their time
and every quiet kept.

I have learned they also desire
my whole world,
however grand or small;
love written in blood
with eyes wide open
to any meaning acquired -
if not felt or given,
I was told I shall fall.

Images, words,
colours and sounds
handed over, then shifted
to trespass all bounds
and make me slavish
of sorrow and beauty
to take as my joy,
my very wish.

Without it, who am I
but cuts and bruises?

segunda-feira, 23 de janeiro de 2017

24/02/2012

Dessa vez eu não vou sofrer! Vou fazer diferente, nunca me submeter! Ainda encontro meu lugar no mundo, do lado de alguém que me ame e me aceite como eu sou.

Eu só preciso esperar, mas também sem ficar sonhando acordada; e assim vou poder ser tudo o que mais quero. Vivo um dia de cada vez. Se eu consigo resistir a mais um dia, posso fazê-lo nos próximos até que chegue a hora.

domingo, 22 de janeiro de 2017

sábado, 21 de janeiro de 2017

14/02/2012

Eu raramente esqueço
de um rosto,
mas o seu faço questão
de conseguir
esquecer um dia.
Pelo menos da
maneira
como lembro
dele agora.

sexta-feira, 20 de janeiro de 2017

quinta-feira, 19 de janeiro de 2017

14/07/2011

Tenho lutado desde sempre
com o objetivo de conservar
aquilo que o destino me
concede, seja por acaso
ou não. Se o que é meu
de verdade ninguém pode
tirar de mim, vou continuar
lutando apesar do medo
de perder. Mas a verdade
é que nada vai embora
ou acaba se não está
no seu tempo.

quarta-feira, 18 de janeiro de 2017

Purificação

Mão suja
de escritor
e pintor
de beleza
se sobrepuja -
áspera destreza
em mancha.

O carvão
que deslancha
pela mão
traz meu
aberto coração
salvo por
um triz
da cerda
do pincel
de tornar-se
como pedra
e bater
sempre infeliz.

Líquida, bem-vinda
na ponta
do dedo,
guarda aquele
nosso segredo!

Mesmo quando
é rude,
se faz
mais linda
mão conhecedora
da tinta
tão bendita
que toca
própria alma
de encanto
deixando-a limpa.

terça-feira, 17 de janeiro de 2017

Dei gratia regina

For you to do justice
to the red and golden king
that has made you queen
you must keep burning
to show anywhere you are seen
you are more than mere smoke,
which puffs and fades away, forgotten...

You are fire that lights bright,
from the darkest ashes you were risen.

Head held up high,
walk and provoke.
Seize your palace,
build your throne.

Bleed your name
as great conquerer
of little things -
all that is worth it
for the heart of a dreamer.

Write about the empire,
dearest lioness!

21/10/2016

segunda-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2017

On the craft

So I am seer,
magician,
mundane prophet
to whom the voices sing,
always welcome and dear.

A million times liver
in worlds of verse and line
where the deepest pain
might still sting,
but every sin is work of the divine,
as declared by the king
and the politician.

Avid drinker of goblet
holder of ode and sonnet
which allows my soul to remain
and pulse in every second
of beautiful eternity.

Alchemist of the untouched,
I take creamy, rich milk
from the toughest stone.
I wrap my most open heart,
in its broken pieces
- so they don't spread apart -
within sound made silk.

Is this curse?
Is this the muse's
way to bless me
for what I keep supressed?
Oh, it could have been worse.

To be a poet
is to be doomed
in the sweetest way;
dice roller in life's bet
for the higher the price
the more willing I am to pay.

19/10/2016

sábado, 14 de janeiro de 2017

Contos da Solidão - O ciúme

- Então tu estiveste com ele outra vez. Nos braços dele...
- Sim. Como de costume ele me abraçou duas vezes; quando cheguei e quando fui embora. E outra vez foi bom. Estou feliz por tê-lo visto outra vez e sei que ele sente a mesma coisa.
- O abraço dele é como o meu?
- Claro que não! O teu não tem carinho, não de verdade.
- E, no entanto, aqui tu estás de novo, deitada comigo, encostada perto do meu coração... Este coração que tu afirmas que eu não tenho, e, no entanto, tu me deste um e o escutas...
- Não tenho escolha e sabes muito bem que esta minha falta de opção é como uma faca de fio duplo. Além do mais, de qualquer forma eu cansei de tentar fugir. Não brigues comigo, por favor, apenas me abrace.
- Claro, minha rainha. Venha, fique aqui... Mesmo depois de tê-lo visto a sensação de carência ainda segue, não é?
- Confesso que sim e tenho medo disso. Espere... Para alguém tão certo de quem é e do que é capaz, até me espanta tu estares com ciúme dele. E por que a pergunta?
- Eu, com ciúme? Nunca. Sei do meu lugar. Ele pode viver no teu coração, como tu dizes, mas não da mesma forma, não na mesma intensidade. Por isso, nem me preocupo. E pergunto porque te conheço; só isso.
- Na mesma intensidade, mas não causa o mesmo dano. Sinto paz, fico serena. Contigo não é assim; é impossível saber o que vai acontecer. Eu até gosto do imprevisível, porém não do teu.
(Longo silêncio. Longo e profundo silêncio.)
(Choro de um, silêncio do outro.)
- Por favor, não faz isso comigo! Não, eu peço! Não tire ele de mim, não tire o amor dele de mim, não me faz duvidar, não me faz questionar isso. Se eu deixar de acreditar nisso e de ter isso de alguma forma, nada mais vai me sobrar para fazer ou crer. Não tira essa paz de mim, não arranca o significado dele do meu coração! Por favor, por favor, eu nunca te pedi nada...
(Mais silêncio e soluços.)
- Não tira isso de mim... Solidão... Não destrói isso.
- Shhh, meu amor... Não chore... Calma... O que aconteceu? Venha cá, respire... Não vai acontecer nada.
- Mentiroso/a!
- Eu sou o que sou, mas isso não importa agora... Nada disso vai mudar, fique tranqüila. Venha e durma, minha mulher, minha vida, minha rainha.
- Tu... Prometes?
- Prometo.
- Eu não acredito em ti; não posso acreditar. Mas abraça-me!
- Assim, pronto, pronto... Boa noite, querida.

sexta-feira, 13 de janeiro de 2017

Intimacy

May our closeness
bring mutual silences
like yours, that say much
when words do not fit.

For they sooth our pain
in the love I see
through your eyes...
Like the lonely rain
I have been learning to adore.

The softest rain
in the hottest day,
as welcome as a caress
that, although unexpected,
is most wanted.

quinta-feira, 12 de janeiro de 2017

Red quill

These rigid, shaken
hands of mine
don't seem to be worthy
of the graceful, fine
and yet fragile
steadiness of this pen.

I fear it might break;
I fear I cannot learn
to recognize my hand
or myself in these words,
in their sake.

But I shall keep trying
to make it beautiful,
to make it better;
come to trust my quill
and for once turn my life
into a real poem -
my most honest love letter.

terça-feira, 10 de janeiro de 2017

15/10/2016

O dom de quem o faz com amor não termina 
no giz repousado na caixa no fim do dia
ou da carreira. 

segunda-feira, 9 de janeiro de 2017

O impossível

Se eu pudesse,
arrancaria do meu coração
todo esse medo,
chacoalharia do meu cérebro
cada pequeno pensamento
que me consome.

Se eu pudesse,
nunca mais choraria
e só saberia
como se sorri.

Se eu pudesse,
hoje sairia daqui
pra não voltar.

domingo, 8 de janeiro de 2017

October 15th, 2016

The older I get the more I fall in love with the words and the power they hold. I don't know if I still believe in God but I certainly see poetry as my greatest prayers these days. If it wasn't for my habit of writing and reading and connecting with what I read and produce, I might have fallen into an even deeper hole of fear and uncertainty.

sábado, 7 de janeiro de 2017

A lament to Michael

Oh, brother mine, song of my lips, light of my eyes, the deepest peace, true home in those vast, cold skies that no longer belong to me…

I adored you for who you were - the perfect warrior - the strongest, the handsomest, the humblest, the bravest, for my sheer loyalty was yours, and yours only. I loved you for everything we did and everything we could have done together, dear brother… We deserved more.

I forgive you, love of mine, for you are what I could never be.

I offer you the pearl of my wrathful tear along with the heart the old war made bleed as the holy token of my eternal devotion. For I am still
like you, beloved; made of the divine, the honest and the pure and nothing else matters.

I know you.

You look nothing like him; to me you have always been more - you
were everything.

This was all his fault and I miss you so… Do you still love me, reason of my brightness now long gone?

sexta-feira, 6 de janeiro de 2017

Heylel, the new sovereign

Father, you may have
shunned me to the darkest
of all places
with the cruelest sword,
but I have no regrets;
you made me who I am.

You made me for love
and if it is a sin
to love the one
who is my very equal,
I'd rather set myself
on the brightest fire;
flesh, bone and feather.

I am no longer
mere puppet in your hands.
I know my power.
I was never the perfect son
you wished me to be;
I was never enough to you
as I know I was to him -
or so I thought.

For every thin soul
I welcome into my new home
for having your back turned to,
may you still remember my name:
I am the star of the morning,
the bringer of light,
now master of my own domain.

quinta-feira, 5 de janeiro de 2017

So-called atheism

It seems quite sad to me
to have no faith;
having nothing to give you
a reason for here to be;
nothing to hold on to
that can make you feel safe.

In truth, to say I dare:
all people are believers.
Mankind is powerfully weak,
we crave for certainty
in a world of despair;
so to any kind of control
everyone might quiver.

When poetry becomes prayer
in your darkest time;
the only dream that clings you
to the chance of a real life
when that god had failed you
on a remote day of October...

(Or has your belief
never been strong enough?
Mere repetition of gestures
and ancient words blown
into the void?)

Faceless salvation
whose blood is ink
in eternal transmutation
with its rhythmic shapes.
Made of my own cruelty,
hope and desperation...

The only option
to put back together
the pieces left of me.

quarta-feira, 4 de janeiro de 2017

As almas mais loucas são as 
mais sensíveis porque vivem 
sempre no limite.

Letícia Bolzon Silva e Yurgen Maas

segunda-feira, 2 de janeiro de 2017

The easiest guess

If only I could drink
from the sea of my tears!
Then one day I might think
I had drowned my fears.

I just wish its bitter salt
would clean me from inside out
so that I could spit every fault
this pain seems to be all about.

My tears are hard to hide,
for they turn my eyes into jewels
carried far away by every tide
and feed my darkness with its fuels.

domingo, 1 de janeiro de 2017

Memento

It's been a long time
and everything seemed just fine
until I saw it through -
the child I once was
has died with you.

Now I see that to this day
she lies in a wooden box
with nothing else to say;
so young, naive and hopeful.

A place meant to keep
all preciousness, as you said;
the gold and silver
at the time you thought I had.

It's been years
since you've gone;
I got used to it
better than I thought I would.

But today I feel my heart break
with every beat,
realizing it's really you
what remains there,
with the child of me.

The diamond of a memory
making up for a departure
so sudden and unfair
in a gift that didn't know
it was the last to be given.

So where this gap should be,
which for some may never fill,
I shall never forget as I look
at the taste and skill
yet again - as the real jewel
from your hand for me.

06/10/2016