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. 

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.

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.

 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?