Inner Babel / Babel Interior

She is a woman. She is against feminism. She is against any kind of service rendered specifically to women. She argues they are not necessary. She, of course, has never needed any of them. She believes education would end violence against women. She ignores the fact that many women suffer physical and psychological violence in their own homes, from their own highly educated, sometimes powerful partners. Women in third world countries, women in first world nations, hiding their black eyes under designer sunglasses.  She is a woman. Protected and lucky, she goes around dictating rules for problems she has  never faced and problems she has decided to overlook. She has no power to change those rules and she is happy to receive the compliments she does from her protected and lucky friends, mostly male. She feels reassured of her wisdom with those compliments. She is so smart! She mixes up concepts of gender and sex. She becomes annoyed that in a National exam, the M...

Soul searchers Deep divers Walking the dungeons of their dark past dreams Weaving threads of intricate thoughts of frightening feelings Looking for the flower within Breathing in The freshness of the garden Breathing out Burning the bridge From where rests the seven headed dragon Its fiery breath Its menacing eyes Its darkness Its desperation Burning the bridges Cutting the ropes Setting feet on the solidity of the mountain Being there Remaining Breathing in Diving in Peaceful clear water Breathing out The blue sky With the water One All is one Soul Searching Breathing in Breathing out All one In the space Where we float Where we search Deep divers

Flying feather Cuts across my drowsy driving.  White flying feather  Against Brasília's blue October sky Disturbs the dryness  Fights life's forceful  practical purposes Flying feather Deep cuts gray threads of dark thoughts Carrying me to dreamy lands Of subtle shades of brighter colors White flying feather Fierceful softness  Delicate violence Holds the answer  to all the questions I'll never make  Flying feather Defies the inert existence of concreteness Fluctuating knife  perforates the flesh   of  my contradictions  White flying feather  Floats across the windshield Disappears in the cloudless vastitude Takes with it the dreamy land  Leaves me the leaping  into the drowsiness  of my own abyss

It is a nice life  If you don't care to listen  to the noisy silence of the soul If you need not the contemplation of the inner walls of your own heart If you need not turn them inside out  If you need not walk  on the pathways  of your veins If you need not dive in the streams of your own pulsating blood 

É, me acostumei com o cheiro forte do verniz. O verniz seca, agora, a nadadora em giz pastel, antes que borre, que apague, que desapareça.  A gente se acostuma com tudo. Ainda mais quando é coisa assim, forte, que aumenta a permanência. Você cresce, envelhece, e nada é permanente. Nada! Quanto mais o tempo passa, mais tudo é nada, mais tudo é fluido e fugaz. E você desiste de domar a vida, e você aceita que não sabe tudo, que não sabe nada. E lê muito, e escreve tratados. E mergulha fundo, em tudo, e não sabe. Não sabe nada! Você caminha, alternando o caminhar: passos firmes, decididos, olhar altivo; passos lentos, cabeça baixa, procurando, procurando, sem nunca encontrar. Tudo e nada! Tudo é tudo e nada! Leve como uma bigorna. É tudo o que é!  Sempre! Nada! E assim você vai, mergulhando, fundo e longe. Vai em apneia! Vai até não aguentar mais. E sobe, de uma vez, à superfície, onde não se vê a margem, onde não dá pé. É lá que você para. Para e enche o pulmão de ar, d...

Dark mane The head lies On the womb There it rests Fingers  run  slowly  through The soft hair Countless black threads Other grey Emerging Here and there Hands caressing Dreams, Joy Following Day, night Embracing Fear and solitude One thing and another Hands, fingers, hair One thing and another Alone One thing and another Put together One thing and another Just one thing

Farta cabeleira negra, Repousa a cabeça Sobre o ventre Descansa Os dedos correm  Lentos Entre macios cabelos Negros fios Outros gris Apontam Aqui e ali Mãos acarinham  Sonho, alegria  Acompanham  O dia, a noite Aconchegam  Medo e solidão Uma coisa e outra Mãos, dedos, cabelos Uma coisa e outra Sós Uma coisa e outra Unem-se Uma coisa e outra Uma coisa só