Thursday, 22 February 2018

Fruit of the West and the East, nor white neither black skin, unrecognized, put down by both parts because I'm not one of each of them entirely; I'm just a mix of opposites that sum up to nothing. Belonging nowhere I am lost and not able to be placed. An eternal war internally and in the eyes of those struggling to see me, all the centuries of military generations contrasting with centuries of peaceful meditative generations, my Western blood and my Eastern body, my golden skin that is no treasure and alien mind that is no leisure. 
The impossible coexistence of the halved being. 

Thursday, 15 February 2018

In any day now you can find the turmoil on the busy streets filled with tourists in the industrious cities of humans consumed by a hurry of life; you can hear sound wings of seagulls and swallows, clothes flying on the lines, pigeons on balconies, but no more phrases launched with character from locals, no more chords from the Portuguese guitar, but you can count with the longing overflowing in your chest and always the river, always the river.

Saturday, 10 February 2018

If they knew my woes, they wouldn't be my foes;
my everyday's battles announces by a snake's rattles;
because I'm like a man of war but with no conviction anymore;
and my weary spirit wanders through the dreams life tore.

Monday, 5 February 2018

 In the moments of each departure the ocean's rythm slows down, each wave in slow motion, like a gentle caress remembered eternally and a tale passed on around the bonfire. 
Sticks of potatos fried 
and ketchup on the side;
Countries' capitals 
and countries' currencies;
A last haircut with scissors 
Hiding vile eternal secrets.

On the shoreline she stood, 
As the waves broke on her chest
She didn't have any time to rest 
But the shiny sea made her look

There was a missile alert in Hawaii 
That turned out to be fake
And here there was rain and cold 
And a life it did forsake

Do you feel a tad broken, 

Do you feel completely shattered? 

Tuesday, 9 January 2018

I'm swamped by the powder of the charcoal destruction that covers my hands 
There's no place more empty than me

And all I can think of is that I need to black out in your arms for as much time necessary to be brought back up again or never to return.
Tired of tales of woe and sorrow, still I know there's no tomorrow, but this emptiness lodged in the extent of my chest, sucking my inside into a black hole, doesn't mind anymore  about anything and I just want it all to disappear. 
Walking through broken leaves they still shatter underneath my feet 
Making noises like crunchy chips 
Like the darkness that shows up deep from the crack of my smile so does the desolation of the melancholic autumn season creeps behind the golden red and brown beauty all around.
The falling leaves, those trees tears, come swaying slowly like all my fears. 

I cast a poem out of the gentle yellow breeze into my persistence and courage before winter comes and makes them freeze. 

Monday, 11 December 2017

There was a time when not even wildfires could push me away from you.
They don't see me
They don't talk with me
They don't touch me
They don't know much about me
They don't love me

And, still, all I wish for are crystal dawns and vanilla skies.