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Showing posts from March, 2018


Luta pelos outros
É chamada de cachorra
É negra
Exige direitos
Como tem a pachorra?

Todo dia um 7 a 1
Vive sempre na gangorra
Sem ninguém que lhe socorra
E a linha é sempre fina
entre o justo e a masmorra

E se eu soubesse, tinha gritado:
- Marielle, corra!
Se eu pudesse, tinha implorado:
- Marielle, não morra!

créditos da foto: Márcia Foletto/Agência O Globo

All the faces I've loved

All the faces of men I've loved visit me in the quiet night of my noisy brain All the ones I once loved and came to hate or forget or pretend to have forgotten Lost in the cloud of indifference  I've carefully created
All of them come back  filling the emptiness  of my broken beaten banal heart In this quiet night of my crowded noisy brain
They march firmly towards me
stop and stare Inches away and shoot their questions right between my shortsighted eyes Why? Why not? How much? How little?
They give me no time to answer
They move and vanish like ghosts of the Christmas past Some fierce and revengeful  pass on the judgement they've held in long
You! They shout Too bold! Too coward! Too hot! Too cold! Too little! Too much!
I try to touch a face or another
I remember them Especially the ones I've hidden so well from myself "Hey, look at you!


When you are the shadow of a star stretched over the world map, crossing land and water, far and close to your own constellation. When you're here and beyond, when you have everything and long for more still. When you let by gones be by gones and it is possible to be "one and still be plural". When you "see the fine line separating here and there", and upon seeing it, you're not content until you've crossed it. When you wish to be here and yonder and you want to love, to love, to love.