3:35

3:35, você me liga,
e percebe que é engano.
desliga sem me dar boa noite,
e só me resta
voltar a dormir.

childhood pictures I

all those wires will connect me to you
no matter where you are,
everyone around us, have their shields
raised to protect,
and our fortress, although weak
is very well guarded;

as my father would brave battlefields
of red, green and grey,
riding on far far lands,
but not as far as his presence wouldn't be felt;

my imagination would be my solace and fear
as all those wires connected me to you
for reasons i could never understand

hold my hand, dear child

all our dreams are equal,
and they won't ever pay
we share an illusion
that paves our way

hold my hand, dear child,
as everything falls apart.
while half of us accept
the other half deceives

hold my hand, dear child,
as the end draws near.

(as
we long for a unknown past
we wish for a future that
won't ever come to be
...)

nas ruas do Rio

nas ruas do Rio,
vemos pessoas sem rosto

(sem rosto, pois tudo
somente o é, conforme
nos atribuímos)

cuja Fortuna vem do nosso desprezo
e de tudo que possamos deplorar
caminhando lentamente, analisando
calculando os centavos e o peso
o cheiro e o apreço

pessoas que conhecem as ruas do Rio
com sua história não narrada
porém vivida em vivas cores
e em versos sem métrica

pessoas que conhecem as ruas do Rio
como um mapa do tesouro,
que veem a impotência da história
e a importância de nossas pequenas
e fúteis vitórias

nas ruas do Rio,
o Rio se conhece

In 2222

In 2222 we should all be dead
without bearing the weight of time
and the offspring of our offspring
will carry the guiltless burden
of reconstruction all that's lost
singing songs that combine
the same old notes

with promises not kept
with hopes not lost
with sighs of relief
with the task of tomorrow

and above all
with the freedom of choice
brought about as an obligation

Desista

Desista, pois no final, não vale a pena;
já que a lei do menor esforço é autoritária,
e ao mesmo tempo, tente e prossiga, já que não
há
nenhuma outra escolha
no final
(sempre no final)

Há sempre algo perdido,
ou que tenha ficado no ocaso lá atrás
um santo graal imaculado,
que por ser asim, assim sempre
o será

(sempre haverá uma foda perdida,
em algum bar vazio, com uma mulher cansada,
que levaria tal memória
para seu túmulo,
carregada de um arrependimento esquecido,
antes mesmo dela morrer)

Mas mesmo assim, vá,
pois mesmo desistir,
é perseverar.

A Second Chance

I am ready for a second chance
I am waiting for another dance
Slowly I began to realize
the expected came as a surprise

the sky fell down, it actually crumbled
all those people that hoped for the end
as a way of satisfying their own ego
where left with nothing else to wonder

a thousand whispers, sounding like a shout
(a note ringing at the same tone and pitch)
even though we had no time to rehearse
we sounded like angels on an altar

A Song for Aarhus (there's a valley, part II)

sittin' on a boring wednesday
in which the future didn't amaze
I reflect upon all that I lost
in an ocean of forgotten choices

days in which we'd sit on the beach
with our dreams as constant as sand
just as I would try to grasp more
they would suddenly leave my hand

now as I repaint our own past
with the colors of our lost dreams
on those forgotten afternoons
the shades of blue just came too soon

in a room full of green bottles of beer,
sheltering the haze of our drunk ideas,
we would live as if we were floating
not realizing we were actually falling.

with our hearts filled with hopes
as self-centered as our own plans
of changing all we judged wrong,
naively unaware of what we'd become

I blame Time for wasting those days
in which we would hold our fates
against the fortune of our will,
whose plans we would never fulfill

oh, and the character that I was
is not the same as what I am
i am accounted to all i made
and the guilt holds itself as a dam

e em mais um dia de Janeiro

os porcos ignoram quando lhes convém;
quando estupram filhas dos outros
e espancam os que não tem pai(í)s.
pisam em jardins alheios,
e prendem os jardineiros,
mas os porcos não se importam,
afinal não se alimentam de flores,
e veem tudo em preto e branco.

(estão deitados, com a barriga para o alto,
em meio a lama)

e os porcos se protegem em troco de sua liberdade
trocam seu cansaço por uma ilusão frágil
vivem como sombras de sombras
do que seriam se tivessem coragem

(estão ruminando a própria vontade, com os cascos rachados)

e os porcos não sofrem em mais um dia em Janeiro,
vivem a certeza falha do porvir,
sua certeza vem do medo,
instinto primitivo e aguçado.

os porcos mais uma vez sobrevivem,
caudicantes,
trêmulos,
porém respirando,

em um dia em Janeiro.

Comforting Sounds

From my bedroom I can hear the beach,
with its soothing sounds
and its incomprehensible anger
frightening only experienced sailors

From my bedroom I can hear the ocean,
colliding against the sand
in a dance that remained silent
until someone could hear it

In the end we are all
just like Portuguese sailors
looking for a piece of ground,
that we can call home

From my bedroom I hear whispers
in a city that remains forsaken
every time it tries to be forgotten
in a foolish attempt of forgiveness

all those comforting sounds are a melody
sounding like a lullaby that lingers
since the dawn of times,
patiently waiting for a listener.

there is a valley - part I

there is a valley surrounded by small mounts,
whose peak are not high,
inhabited by creatures
(both humans and beasts)
that carry no ambitions
or any major flaws
that wear colorful dresses
that match not their souls.
in there lays a small city,
whose name has no logic
or any discernible history,
owning much of their existence to inertia.

landscapes

you're just a city
with a million other stories
but there's a piece of you
that is only mine,
filled with who i was
and who i'll never be

(although i'll never fully understand,
comprehend, or accept that fact)

landscapes that hold eternity
inside of my memory
that slowly decays
but, oblivion,
that cold, eight-legged, friend
has no knowledge of time.

you're just a city -
whose bricks albeit real -
live only through a collective goodwill

Tainted Saints With No Guilt

we're tainted saints with no guilt
who set their sails to be adrift
our holy bodies in the right place
as we find shortcuts in our maze

we're guiltless kids full of doubts
trying to collide in lonely crowds
our eyes shine with different colors
our lust is sacred, our faith's hollow

you're the blossoming flower on a boring day
you're the abyss that I throw myself away
you're the silence and its million senses
you're a prison without any fences

as we lose our air, laying on the ground
every second has a death to be found
every death has a life to be regained
as every desire can be played again

just as we sleep stuck by our sweat
a winter night whispers cold beyond
life is a succession of our regrets,
(a silence waltz for our unborn son)

Futuro do Pretérito

quem sabe em alguns anos,
eu a encontre, em algum aeroporto
ou bar
em alguma esquina perdida
em qualquer cidade pequena
e ambos fingiremos curiosade,
sobre detalhes passageiros
(que pensando bem,
serão a base de tudo o que temos)
sorriremos e ficaremos felizes
em aquiescer que ambos estamos vivos
e não mais nos veremos,
e saíremos pensando,
em qualquer guerra que possa começar
em qualquer país que jamais iremos,
tudo para não pensar no que nós jamais fomos,
ou nos nomes de filhos que não tivemos...

3h27

às 3:27,
você sai,
e a cidade brilha no escuro
daqui de cima,
daqui do nono andar,
e você sai...
segue o seu caminho, e vai
com remorso
e sem olhar pra trás
com uma lágrima envergonhada
(como se amar e ser amada,
fosse um pedido de perdão)
e assim, você vai
e eu, pobre de mim,
uma parte de mim fica
e outra se esvai,
feito fumaça,
a poluir mais um pouco essa cidade
que a todo custo
se ocupa em brilhar.

The Touch of Your Hand is Such

the touch of your hand is such,
that it makes me understand -
as our hearts grow with desire,
life is only a flickering flame,
that we struggle to see through...

the touch of your hand is such,
that it merely sways and brakes
all of my ways, and I stay,
I stay and stay with no reason to move
blindfolded by my own desires

the touch of your hand is such,
that when it quivers, i shiver,
like a young tree that bends down,
forced by its own ambitions,

Haikais

my dreams are now,
all but a fading memory,
of who I planned to be

E a primavera traz flores,
mesmo sabendo que no final,
o inverno é impassível

Um uivo de um cachorro velho,
ecoa, ecoa e ressoa,
numa madrugada triste e esquecida

Niterói

Nessa cidade feita de milhões de sonhos
e de mãos calejadas, eu me perco
entre ruas que conheço mais que a mim mesmo.

e todos os meus sonhos estão prenhes
com todas as minhas ilusões feitas de fumaça;
e carrego em meus ombros as minhas saudades.

e você é todos os meus medos conjugados,
e você é todos os meus medos aumentados,
e você é parte de mim que ficou pelo caminho
e você é o caminho que mudou algo em mim...

e assim nessa cidade de frente pro mar,
eu abro minhas velas e navego sem estrelas,
sem esquecer que há sempre um porto lá atrás...

this is a poem

this is a poem made of few words,
hoping to fit in correctly
(not too much so it feels ordinary,
not too little so it feels too daring)

this is a poem to be read fast,
hoping to be consumed with ease
(not too much as it offends you,
not too little as it pleases you)

this is a poem that will only take
five minutes of your precious time,
(not too many minutes as it bores you,
and not too few so it feels as a waste)

this is a poem made of few words,
made to make an impact, and soon be forgotten
(not as much that it would make a change,
and not as little to be read aloud)

There Are Some Cold Days In Which

there are some cold days in which I wish
to be, for a while, who we once were,
in those days, which we would spend our time,
looking at the cracks in your wall,
and building plans out of grains of sand
wasting our time in your old noisy bed,
holding hands as the winter came...

but darling, time has no feeling
or anything that looks as a reason
it just has its infinite meanings
that we shape as it shapes us all

there are some days in which I wish
that i could have a couple of minutes,
to hold your hand again as i used to,
in a cold day in May as brown leaves came,
so i could offer you my sincere apologies
for the sins i unwillingly committed;
(to clean away my guilty of changing).

but darling, time has no reason
or anything that looks like a feeling,
it just acts according to its fair meanings
when it commits its own acts of treason.

there are some days in which I wish,
we both could become who we used to be,
there are some other days in which I wish,
who we were could as easily disappear,
just to live without leaving any trace left.

I just had a visitor from Scranton on my blog. Was that you, Dwight?

I carry the anger

I carry the anger of a thousand poets
that will never be read and will waste their talents
working on night shifts at gas stations,
counting coins and giving change
waiting for a chance,
while struggling with the predictability of their lives.

and our heroes will build their own empires
based on themselves
carrying greed branded as entrepreneurship,
giving us the darkest secrets
of our own Will;

as prophets shall sell destruction
we set ourselves of fire to distract ourselves
with the flame

also, we will buy hope and love
on installments.

Valsa em Dois Tempos

uma dança mansa e insinuante -
feito onda no mar, feito canção de ninar:
assim é a minha saudade,
assim fora o meu passado.
assim fora o meu futuro.

meu bem, você é um retrato,
de tudo o que eu jamais fora
e sempre sonhei em ser,

meu bem, você é uma prova
da auto-aceitação e da leveza
de ser sem se perceber;
da alternativa aos planos de outrora
(todos feitos de mármore,
e cravejados de diamantes)


meu bem,
você é a alternativa fugaz
e a beleza do acaso.

in spite of;

i love you in spite of;
of all your imperfectness
and all of your
quirkiness
and such,

and i love you for you gave meaning
to a common night in July;
you took the ordinary
and turned it
into a memory i will revisit
relive
and recreate throughout my whole life

i love you in spite of;
myself and all that i am
or could be -
you are the dream inside of a dream
that i always carried
in my pocket and in my heart

i love you for with you
we are against the odds,
on a world filled with obstacles
and randomness:
you carry the hope of a bird for an adrift ship

i love you for your quirkiness
and the ability you
(and only you possess)
to cast your shadow upon myself on a desert,
even when you are not here.

(nós)
decoramos nosso castelo de areia
e nós o vimos desabar,
enquanto estávamos dentro -
preocupados em o criar

E nós fomos, enquanto permitiu o mar...
e a maré veio, e cansamos de amar
entre ondas, nossa vida viu-se em vagas,
e agora, a sós,
vamos, impacientes e conformados
a vagar...

A Morte de Troy Davis

No dia vinteeum de setembro
de doismileonze
Troy Davis foi morto

às onzehoraseoitominutos
(da noite)
Troy Davis foi morto

com uma injeção letal
após pedidos de clemência
e um julgamento dúbio
após assumir sua inocência
frente a culpa que lhe fora jogada
Troy Davis foi morto

com seus sonhos sólidos
como um floco de neve na primavera
Troy Davis foi morto

após em sua vida alcançar
a fama que jamais imaginara,
ironicamente,
Troy Davis foi morto

e a vingança travestida de justiça,
falou mais alto, e
Troy Davis como seu último recurso,
afirmou sua inocência
antes de ser executado...
e agora, para Troy Davis,
não há mais volta,
e as lágrimas que ficam,
são de um conformismo seco,
e doloroso.
a culpa ou a inocência,
são apenas subjetivos,
pois -
Troy Davis está morto.

i love you for simple reasons

(and on a warm night
our bodies intertwine,
there's no you nor an I,
and our memory abides...)

inside your blue eyes
I am but a sailor
trying to make his land
out of a vast ocean

i love you for simple reasons
that i cannot explain;
and my love as pure as,
a martyr that dies in vain.

your eyes when on top of mine
are mine as well to hide.
our dreams built to amaze
illusion of thread on a maze...

i love you and i couldnever
give you a reason or a why;
my love is as simple as
all the hopes in your eyes...

On An Ocean of Coincidences

on those streets dyed in grey,
there are many shades to see,
and many shadows to believe,
oh babe, life is but a whisper...
and we are but flimsy,
as our bodies intermingle -
we feel the pleasure and warmth
of sharing our loneliness..

inside my cynicism, a thousand dreams
made of a very thin crystal;
I'm just a bird bred in captivity
who had regained its freedom,
lost in a cage that's only bigger
trying to figure it's own path,
as the wind subtle as a whisper,
takes my hand as I try to grasp...

on a maze of a thousand lights,
where people avoid one another
still they are bound to collide,
meaningless they all strife...
my love, you make me undress
of my heavy armor and mess
like a leaf floating on a stream
i follow your will as it flows...

and witnessed by a dim light
our bodies as flames would collide
carrying all of their possibilities,
that leads to the same unique end.
filled with innocence and desire,
we would set our hopes on fire.
my love, on an ocean of coincidences,
you are my constant star...

O Circo

Na rua -
há meninos equilibristas;
com um olhar amargo
e uma tênua maquiagem
de fuligem.

A Bird Bred In Captivity

I'm just a bird bred in captivity
who had just regained its freedom,
lost in a cage that's only bigger
trying to figure it's own path

I am a sailor that longs to make
out of an unknown ocean, it's land
you're the constant star I follow,
randomly pointing a certain way...

(oh, I undress my heavy armor
and I let my guard open
so I can feel free,
within every inch of you)

my dear, you are all of the fears
I feared I would never have;
I merge into you and the silence,
I realize you are all of my hopes.

O Porto da Minha Cidade

No porto da minha cidade
não partiu nenhum desbravador dinamarquês,
ou explorador português.
Na minha cidade não saiu nenhum
galeão espanhol carregado de expectativas
e pólvora
ou piratas ingleses
No porto da minha cidade
só há pescadores
com suas tarrafas desembaraçadas
suas mãos calejadas
e seus sonhos de cristal.

Santa María

lay those blue eyes
on top of mine
give me an illusion
there's nothing outside

you are all of the
fears
I was afraid of never having

and we are doomed
to find us a future
as we both follow
unknown stars...

(and you give me the freedom,
of not having a choice,
as a ship adrift,
I go...)

A Deriva

meu bem,
você me dá a liberdade
de não ter que escolher,
tal qual um navio sem velas,
eu vou,
a deriva...

This city is made of
bricks and wires
all put together
by men with harsh hands
and crystal dreams;

scent of forgotten illusions
and build up memories
(collide with light poles)

well, my love,
i am so lost,
trying to build
something for myself
with my harsh dreams
and my crystal hands...

Terça-feira

A minha saudade
é um perfume conhecido
em situações inesperadas
e em lugares comuns.

eu tentei te encontrar
nessas ruas cansadas
(que nunca fecham os olhos,
nunca cessam de observar)

a parte de um passado
que eu tento reviver
a certeza e o agrado
que eu tive em você,

mas numa terça-feira
descansada e despercebida,
você saiu e se perdeu
e perdi algo que fui eu...

E assim, algo permanecerá
E assim, algo se perderá
E assim, algo me despedaçará
E assim, algo me reconstruirá

com reticências achadas
numa noite sem estrelas
em caminhos desconhecidos
porém já caminhados...

A minha saudade
é um perfume conhecido
em situações inesperadas
e em lugares comuns.

every light you shed,
casts infinite shadows
every light you reflect,
upon any common meadow -
has the soothing effect
of a river that's shallow...

inside the possibilities
of every little thing
you give value to
and you do...

there is
a goal you do
not want to lose
when you swim by; loose...

(
also, there is
a piece of you
that you long
to keep as you
move and move
in a struggle
to be still...
)

O Farol

Meu bem, somos como exploradores portugueses,
procurando o desconhecido pra chamarmos de lar;
porém ressentindo a saudade do que deixamos...

Segure minha mão, e em meio a imensidão
de tudo o que eu não consiga ver
leve-me e seja o meu motivo
pra que eu possa me perder
em tudo o quê for você...

Pois se há um farol, há sempre um pretexto
para se viver qualquer ilusão,
pois se há uma estrela e uma bússola
achemos sempre uma nova direção...

Meu bem, somos como exploradores portugueses,
com medo de tudo o que chamamos de lar
procurando qualquer pedaço de terra em meio ao mar...

A Spring Inside Your Smile

lay those blue eyes on top of mine
give me an illusion there's nothing outside...
only a fog and a weak dim light
that hides itself behind the fight

you would say we shouldn't go further,
but when we open your sails like this...
we are doomed to find a future
just by following unknown stars...

and in those eyes - I wanna be lost
(so I can learn how to be found)
there is a Spring inside your smile
I'll make a life out of our dreams...

naive enough to regain my innocence
and I hold your hand - blindfolded,
we cross the tightrope that binds us;
enjoying the view from the abyss below

spending time decorating our sandcastle
all we really are is what we dream,
so we share them as we add up our illusions
the time, we lose, is the time we have...

and in those eyes I wanna be lost
so I can learn how to be found
there is a Spring inside your smile
i'll make a life out of our dreams.

there's an universe inside your curious eyes
that I lay my thoughts when I am lost
there's a shelter inside your smile
that I long for after those many miles

there's an universe inside your curious eyes
that I lay my thoughts when I am lost
there's a shelter in the end of the miles
eventually leading to your many smiles...

And it all seems like a blur... (part I)

After almost six months of living abroad in Denmark, all I've lived in there seems like a blur of memories; everything just went by so fast that time appears distorted and I cannot seem to be able to draw a timeline with all the important things that happened to me over there...

All those months, weeks, days... they all seem like it were just one weekend or two. It seems as if I arrived at Kastrup Airport yesterday. It snowed and it was obviously cold; I was alone in a different country, quite uncertain of what would be of the next six months I would spend in there. All I knew was that I had two large suitcases and I was 3 hours away from the city I was supposed to call mine for the next semester. And in the following day I took the train and there I was, waiting for my mentor to meet me.

Although it wasn't cold, it did not snow; still we could see the snow and the ice on the streets, and it would remain there for some weeks; weeks in which I would learn how to walk on ice with falling. And weeks that I would learn not to forget my gloves, otherwise my fingers would burn. Those were probably the first lessons out of many that would shape the person I am now. We do change constantly, but living in a different country had made that change more obvious to me. And as the days went by, Winter left and the snow slowly melt, allowing the grass to be seen and small yellow flowers to blossom in front of my window.

Cabe a Nós

Tudo o que há ou houve nessa vida,
apenas é.
cabe a nós complicarmos as coisas,
cabe a nós adjetivar a vida...

cabe a nós nos permitir achar qualquer sentido,
em meio a indiferença de tudo que nos cerca.

e é nosso dever atribuir significado
a morte, as cidades
aos caracóis, as amantes
a mesa de centro,
e ao centro de gravidade

Tudo o que há ou houve nessa vida,
porém, tudo o que nós somos,
bem, isso já é matéria por demais complexa...

You were my constant star
even when the sky was dark
and I would float through the boredom
of an ever-changing sea...

like a Portuguese sailor
I would long for something new,
while still missing the land
I used to call home.

Like A Stone Upon Any Calm Shore

Spring time comes now with old novelties,
as we're shaped without losing our form -
leaving only flowers made of a colorful smoke,
leading to a nostalgia we're bound to soak

Now, my dear, the times have changed
and so did us, even though it's subtle
like a stone upon any calm shore
bound to leave its mark on the sands of time

With memories that seem like a futile attempt
of trying to stick to what we won't again be
and everything we are still able to remember
will be sooner or later forever forgotten...

As nothing ever lasts and everything is frail
and we are just as unique and we could be,
my darling, you carry the beauty of a flower
trapped inside any casual lost second...

As the Sunset Drew A Closure for Us - The Life After People

Espero que gostem :)

As The Sunset Drew a Closure for Us

As the snow falls beyond your window
and the dark night shelters the both of us
those winter warm nights in your bedroom
forever endless inside their seconds...
I built you as my own illusion
without asking for your consent

As the snow fell beyond your window
you knew that our shelter would end
those winter warm nights were numbered
as the sunset drew a closure for us
I built you as my illusion
without asking for your consent

As we aren't the same as we were before
those moments will be trapped inside us
I'll romanticize all of your whispers
until there's only the life that's not mine
I built you as my illusion
without asking for your consent

When I Leave Aarhus

when I leave Aarhus,
I won't miss the city in itself
for a city is just millions of bricks, cement and asphalt
built by rough hands that carry crystal dreams.

I'll miss the flowers that blossom in the first days of spring
in spite of the snow that still lays in the grass,
waiting patiently for the time to pass.

and the memories I will reconstruct with the help
of many hands I've gathered from many places,
the expectations inside the total darkness

the people I learned to love
and the moments in which I felt like a hero
conquering any silly detail I never thought I would do

I'll miss who I was in here;
for who I was is not a part of me
anymore,
it's just a recollection
of everyone I've met inside this maze without a map.

but what I'll miss the most is the
tiny things that I'll only be able to see only from afar

The Moments in Which You Waited

the moments in which you waited for my reaction
when you said that you and I were no more
and that I were doomed to be nothing more than a list of memories,
full of nostalgia and a condescending smile
that ignored all of my failures and shortcomings;
for I would not be worth the time to think them over.

the moments in which I'll over think this through
(and I'll blame me for not blaming you for blaming me),
then I would also waste it building a hypothetical future
from a past that didn't exist, using recollections of you
that you wouldn't recognize as being yourself...
(how do you ask someone the permission to recreate them?)

the moments in which you'll think this over
is when you ran into something specific that would remember you
of a lost memory full of tenderness from those moments -
which we shared a warm bed under a cold moon in a windy night,
and you would miss the sex and the youth you slowly lose
but you would not miss who I really were or thought to be...

the moments in which I'll think through my reaction
when you said you and I were no more
and then under a cold moon in a quiet night quite ordinary
in which I can not sleep nor stay awake,
I'll think it all through trying to locate
the mistake I committed in a past that didn't exist...

The Flowers That Passed

Inside my cynicism -
I carry a thousand dreams,
made of a very thin crystal.

A veil of hope -
surrounds me like a fog
and conceal what I lost...

As I take your hand
You try to grasp
And I try to comprehend
the moments inside the moment.

Just another day -
unlike any other before
I waste while I want more...

The wind, it shows -
subtle like a whisper
the storms of tomorrow.

As you take my hand
I try to grasp
and you try to understand
the flowers that passed...

Flores No Canto do Meio-Fio

Nessa manhã semelhante
a tantas outras:
cheia de possibilidades
não aproveitadas,

flores no canto do meio-fio,
e o encanto da efemeridade
é perdido em meio a tudo que
lhe parece eterno...

Em meio a ressaca
de uma calmaria calculada
pesa-se o tempo desperdiçado
com uma balança de ouro.

E as flores no canto do meio-fio,
estão lá paradas
ocupadas a medir
o peso da indiferença

The July Showers Come After All

The July showers come after all
to wash away all of our sins
and start over all of our means;
to rebuild all of our laughter
and recreate all of our matter...

The July showers come after all
you're as predictable as a fallen leaf
and I haven't got used to it,
open your eyes to see through the curtain
the sweet illusion things remain the same...

The July shower come after all
to wash away all of ourselves
into a different world of our regrets,
darling, lead me by the hand,
into another shade through the same land.

Casa Velha

Adeus, casa velha,
A mudança há de vir
e o tempo terá que passar;
as caixas irão se encher
e as luzes irão se apagar,
nos cômodos que eu me criei
e cuidadosamente criei para mim
sonhos e ilusões,
memórias e distrações,
esses cômodos irão ficar
e eu fico com o que eu posso levar;
outros moradores virão
comprarão plantas e as regarão,
lavarão o piso e
talvez cultivem o riso,
farão dessas paredes um lar -
completamente diferente -
do lar que eu levo comigo
ao deixar essa casa...
Adeus, casa velha.

Amongst All of Us

amongst all the hookers and drug dealers
all the preachers and the believers
all the saints and the martyrs
all the poets and the fighters

they are all weighting themselves
with a scale they can't measure
and they are all carrying themselves
with the lenghts of their pleasure

they are all hypnotized in front of mirrors
all painted in a thousand different colors
they are all hypnotized in front of mirrors
a reflection in many shades of the same color.

all of them under the flickering lights
of the stars and the light poles,
guided by their own loneliness
falling in love with any shadow of illusion.

and on this hazy lazy drunk night
there's nothing else for us to do
if not decorate our own sand castles
with our own hopes and expectation

and watch it from inside while it crumbles
whenever the tide rises...

Obama Is Not Dead

There's something profoundly wrong with a society that celebrates death. Most of the times it is the celebration of an enemies death; an enemy which quite often is the personification of "evil" in itself. But that quite often is the beginning of a movement towards the loss of the sanctity of human life. Whenever a death is celebrated, it means that we lost all the empathy towards that human being; from that to losing empathy towards groups, towards whole communities, countries is not a big leap, most of the time it is just a small step.

With that in mind I began to re-think the events of such a historical day as today. Osama bin Laden is dead. The most wanted man and probably one of the most famous man in the planet was shot dead today. The mind behind the day that left us all dumbfounded with its audacious and extremely cruel attack that resulted in the killing approximately 2,500 civilians is no more. Almost 10 years after the 11/9 he was killed in its death announced to the whole world by Barack Obama in one of those moments that linger on our collective memories.

But what does his death mean to the world? To the war on terrorism, it is early to tell, but there are some signs that it won't make much of a difference on how we perceive terrorism as a threat; or how terrorism is considered by the nations as a threat to their own security. Actually, it could make things worse since some countries are expecting retaliation from Al Qaeda. As of the occupation of Afghanistan, there are no signs of NATO troops leaving the country. So, in the geopolitical sense, it seems that things will remain unchanged for some time.

To America it is an act of revenge more than an act justice. The celebration of his death was a fine moment to reassert American national identity; killing its number one enemy brought up nationalistic feeling all over the country. People were partying around the White House, at the Ground Zero area... Americans felt more Americans inside their own imagined community (as Benedict Anderson would put) and they were proud of it. Still, they were rejoicing the death of a man, and no matter how cruel that man might have been, it was still a human life that deserves utter respect, even stated at American constitution. If the Americans wanted justice, they would've paid some respect towards his life as human being, and the lives of the ones that died at his bloody hands by not celebrating his death; it should have been a moment of mourning of the ones that died nearly 10 years ago that won't come back with his death, still it became the celebration of the execution of an enemy.

The using of national symbols to celebrate the death of man is something that shows us that there might be something wrong with the collective psyche of large portions of a whole nation. The death of a man who obviously won't change what has happened; they might take some solace with that, but the harm is already done. The celebration of this man's death is just a naive and foolish attempt to ignore that fact; even worst, it just makes the ones that celebrate his death closer to Osama himself in his complete lack of respect for human life as a whole. It is of a dark and crude irony that with his death and the celebration of it by the Americans, that it can be the victory of all the "evil" that America claimed to be fiercely fighting against...

Which leads me to my last point: the death of Obama can be the beginning of some kind of sinister cult of his image; his turning into a martyr will likely happen by the same fundamentalists that support him, after all since they have no respect towards human life (quite often, not even their own lives), why would their hero need to be alive? His death is certainly not the death of his ideas and his terrorist thoughts will echo even further. Osama might be dead, but for many who admire his grim actions, he still lives on. And if the "Western" side is losing touch of the value of a single human life, it might as well mean an escalation of the confrontations; which will translate into more deaths on both sides of the struggle.

Those times, in which people more often lose the ability of feeling empathy, and the need for justice turns into a need for vengeance carries nothing but a grim future ahead of us...

Hey, My Dear

this has been in my had for literally more than one year, finally I finished and it came to me while listening to Beirut that made me remember of a TV series called Capitu and of course, it made me remember of Dom Casmurro


Hey, My Dear

hey, my dear,
whisper in my ears,
all the lies
I would love to hear

slowly I realize
that I've betrayed myself
with my own
jealousy

hey, my dear,
amongst the silence
that was laid here,
answers aren't quite clear

hey, my dear,
it's the doubt that pierces
with the certainty
of having no proofs...

slowly I realize
that I've betrayed myself
with my own
jealousy

hey, my dear,
it's the time we lose
pondering about
the mistakes we choose...

Along the Road

i'll pick it up along the road
different flowers for you
even though we know
they'll dry out before its due

it's our future regret
that surprises us when it comes
it's the the memories we build
from a past that wasn't true

now I'm scattered around
in every corner I've had to leave
in every life I wish I'd live
vainly I try to gather them all...

oh, my dear, we look as calm
as a tree that faces a storm
with its roots of smoke
and its branches of dreams...

As Any Rainy Day in May

as any rainy day in May
in which an absence of thoughts
makes me think about all that's lost
now I see your face on a falling leave,
a prelude to a spring that won't come
how our secrets lay forgotten
beneath blankets we've given away
and the only thing we know
about each other is the name
we were given as a curse.
such a beautiful face I romanticized
while creating the present of our memories,
those moments in which we thought
honestly we would last forever,
they were so brief on its eternity...
it was just the illusion of our wishes
that for some reason (beyond ourselves)
didn't come to become reality,
except when we weren't thinking
realistically about us

All Those Songs

oh, my dear, there isn't much,
nowadays, for us to fight
except fighting for ourselves
and we might as well be losing...

we're too bored for having
too many choices
and we are slaves
of our uncontrollable freewill

so, sweetheart, take my hand
we might as well find each other
through the loneliness
of a crowded night club

those songs in which pleasure
is preached as an obligation
and everything is too obvious
for us to see the subtle change

we're too bored for having
too many choices
and we set ourselves free
by pretending we'll always be the same...

A Eternidade de um Momento

E a cidade se aquieta
cheirando a gasolina
como antes cheirara ao querosene das lâmpadas
(do século retrasado)
e em comum fica a sensação
perene e serena
do tempo que perdemos,
despercebido...

As portas vão se fechando
o comércio vai se fechando
os sons vão se esvaindo
e assim nada fica
apenas a fugaz impressão de que todo momento

é eterno...

E um velho cão late,
sem ter razão,
pois a razão não compete
a cães que latem numa madrugada fria
a eles apenas compete
latir.

E eu, aqui estou,
com aquela velha maldição,
(o pecado inicial)
de desejar aquilo que não podemos ter,
num mundo em que tudo nos é permitido,
queremos o impossível
e derretemos feito cera
sem saber o que será
de nós ao cair
e cair e cair...

Portanto aqui estou,
para confundir a solidão
deito-me com uma mulher
que não é a mulher com quem eu queria me deitar,
ela cheira bem
(não feito a gasolina)
mas sim com uma aroma sintético e agradável,
e ambos ansiamos por qualquer espécie de contato
que chego a sentir pena
(e sinto que ela sente o mesmo por mim)
e percebo que tal mulher nua
me é uma estranha,
que sei sobre ela apenas o nome que lhe inventaram...

Porém algo dentro de mim me diz
que isso é preferível;
que a ilusão descortinada
ainda vale se fecharmos os olhos...

Echo of a Dead Leaf

it's the echo of a dead leaf
the memory of a forgotten perfume
it's the remembrance of a broken passion
the dreams that are worn out

it's everything we ever wanted to be
still somehow we could not
it's the feeling of something missing
that haunts us during a silent night

it's the loss of being lost
it's the Lines I have to cross
then the longing to come back
without realizing nothing's the same...

it's the echo of a dead leaf
that leaves upon a gentle breeze
it's just the echo of a broken passion
that stays whenever we leave.

A mudança de continente, de clima, de fuso-horário, de cultura, de idioma, de rotina me fez menos reflexivo, pelo menos, nesse primeiro mês e meio que estou na Dinamarca.

Tenho tido pouca inspiração (que pode se traduzir em vontade) de escrever poemas e afins. Porém, sinto falta de ter um violão ou uma guitarra, pois tenho tido algumas idéias que considero boas para músicas e uma ou duas linhas melódicas tem martelado minha cabeça. Espero que com um instrumento aqui eu consiga pelo menos compôr e escrever letras, que em todo caso, são poesia também. Mas enfim, a quantidade de postagem diminui, meus caros e poucos leitores, porém, acho que voltará a se normalizar em pouco tempo

Meu bem,
se você sabe muito bem,
que a chuva sempre vem
e o que tempo não é seu;
(é apenas um empréstimo),
por que esse tom?
por que essa preocupação?
A vida é curta, mas só se percebe,
meu bem,
quando ela está próxima do fim,
só aí é que se perde tempo
pensando no tempo que se perdeu.

Por isso, meu bem,
espero que aprenda muito bem,
que a chuva virá,
afinal ela sempre vem...

Well, Maybe I Am

You've lied with all the conviction you had
And I felt so blessed for believing you
I wasn't quite sure of your intentions
And I've given you full access and permission

Oh, darling, and it's a known fact
for the both of us
that the lonelier one gets
the easier one falls in love

It's just because you can see right through me
as if I were made of glass
well, maybe I am
well, maybe I am

You've told me the truth once but I was absent
And I felt so blessed in where I was
I wasn't quite sure of what you meant
But somehow you decided you needed to be gone

Oh, darling, and it's a known fact
for the both of us
that the lonelier one gets
the easier one falls in love...

Quem de Nós

Quem de nós dois desandou;
e no fim se desencontrou
nesse mar imenso e raso
de ilusões feitas ao acaso?

Quem de nós entre vãs promessas,
percebeu que tudo isso
era apenas um castelo de cartas,
e saiu sem avisar ao outro?

Meu bem, apenas lhe peço
que não fique assim,
pois toda essa nossa culpa
não é só minha e sua...

É que fomos ambos educados
a só aprender a ganhar
e quando tivemos que perder
não soubemos nos comportar.

Portanto, fique serena, meu bem
pois o fim, como sabe,
não significa que tudo tenha terminado
mesmo que não haja um recomeço.

O Lado de Fora

Meu bem, há tanta vida lá fora
que não nos pertence -
fora dessas janelas, há o frio
a neve, as folhas perdidas num inverno duradouro
e também a paz junto com a correria,
meu bem, para nós daqui de dentro desse quarto,
o lado de fora não nos pertence...