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Showing posts from May, 2015

A moth to a lamp

A mothAttracted to a lamp Loves the light Enjoys the warmth
It feels the heat Senses the burning  Yet it stays 
You turn off the light  The moth leaves  Half burnt and crooked
Left to its own devices It would linger To be consumed Turned to ashes
The intensity  of the light  Makes sense  to the moth
If not dead  When the light is on It will return To the lamp To the warmth To the burning

Dissertation Blues

A thousand papers, hundreds of books Read over and over Squeezing every drop  of significant thought  out of your brain
Search, research, reach Writer's block  Eyes on screen
Hands on keyboard  Nothing but a dissertation blues
Take a stand  Take a walk Face back pain  Endure it 
Return Back to the screen  Back to the keyboard Nothing but a dissertation blues

Half gone

(sem título)Frail, gray and hurt
She looked at him  Half naked Peaceful His eyes closed His skin slightly blue A bad thought crossed her mind
She shrugged it off He needs Sun He's lost weight She won't say anything  She might say he needs Sun
Half gone And her Half there With him Half gone

De borboletas e casulos

Nem um mês passou desde que vi a última borboleta e já sinto falta delas e de suas promessas de renovação, renascimento. Criaram inúmeras expectativas, esperanças de mudanças que, hoje vivem encasuladas em mim. Não se movem, não se abrem. 

Talvez estejam mesmo sendo gestadas, essas mudanças. Talvez, essa imobilidade, essa desesperança, seja apenas a capa, a casca. Quem sabe lá dentro, bem lá dentro,  transformações alquímicas estejam em curso. Daí a dor, daí o nó na garganta, essa necessidade de se ver muda, de se ter só. Sinto falta do movimento, o leve e ágil bater de asas contra o céu, mas não posso, hoje, como as borboletas, bater asas. Não posso e não quero!  Pelo menos, ainda não!
Quero a viagem interna que acompanha outras vidas a partir de casulos de edredom, aquecidos por meias de lã e pijamas de algodão. Quero o aconchego dos chás, dos livros, das músicas, que embalam e nutrem sonhos de vôos. Não quero vôos! Sinto falta de desejá-los, acostumada que estava a elas, as borbolet…

About butterflies and chrysalis

Not even a month has passed since I've seen the last butterfly and I already miss them and their promises of renewal, rebirth. They've created countless expectations, hopes of changes that, today, live inside me in a chrysalis.They do not move. They do not open.

Perhaps they are really being gestated, these changes. Perhaps, this immobility, this absence of hope, is only the cover, the crust. Who knows, maybe inside, deep inside, alchemical transformations are ongoing. Hence, the pain, the lump in the throat, this need to see myself muted, to have myself alone. I miss the movement, the light and fast flapping of wings against the sky, but I cannot, today, like the butterflies, flap my wings. I cannot and do not wish to! At least, not yet!
I want an internal journey that follows other lives from blanket chrysalis warmed by wool socks and cotton made pijamas. I want the caring comfort of teas,  books and  music craddling and nourishing dreams of flights. I do not want flights! …


The little boy did not want to be her friend anymore. That was the thing! He just did not want to play with her. She told her mom. Moms are the only ones who understand those things. "Did he tell you he doesn't want to be your friend?", she asked. "Yes." A big fat tear formed and was dripping from the corner of her eye. "He doesn't want to play with me anymore." The mom caressed her hair. Why doesn't he like me mom?" Tears continued falling, one fat one after the other. It impressed the mom how tears could be so heavy and fat. She was silent. "Well, if he doesn't want to play with you, there is nothing you can do, sweetie!" 
The little girl raised her head and her big brown eyes starred at her mom. She could see the despair in them. "Despair... How could that be? So young!" Yet, there it was! She recognized it.  - You can play with your other friends! You have so many friends! You have so many people who love you!  - …

Blame yourself

Blame yourself
for expecting water in the desert
Haven't you read your Geography books?  Blame yourself  for not learning your lesson You had years to do it Blame yourself  for your adolescent look on life Haven't you a mirror? 
Walk away  And blame yourself It was there all along A sterile path  you decided to walk
Now walk away  Do not look back  You chose to walk it You chose to cross it  You are almost there 
The other side There shall be something  on the other side There shall be light  There shall be life For now, do blame yourself But march still Walk

Maybe it's a tumor

It might have been
That day
I fainted
I passed out I fell
A changed life  An everlasting feeling Of lacking  Missing  Absence A gap A void
Avoid me The deepness The circumstances  The awkwardness 
I remain Gazing Watching Staring Searching for
Beauty A habit  Unstoppable  Never enough Never complete
Maybe it's a tumor Strangely instilling  Sensual Esthetic  Constant Pleasure
A need for  Specific stimuli  Tender appreciation Strong sensations  Yet never sufficing
A high 
that gone  Borders insanity Leaves me lost  Leaves me lacking
A gap An absence  A void

A grain of sand

All memories
will become
a grain of sand
one day

One day,
a grain of sand
in the corner
of the mind

A grain of sand
filled with
the greatness
and the dangers
of the ocean

Every teardrop
and the track it followed
through the face
An ocean
in a grain of sand
one day