Lilacs and daisies

The notebook of life is near the end
and still I bleed, everyday, a little
just to know that I'm alive.
A random collection of feelings,
a rainbow entwined in dark clouds,
the lilac memories of my sorrows
punctuated by yellow daisies,
getting all together for the final festival.

Old people will always be old
as young will always stay young,
that is the power of memories
when they fade into black & white.
Friends and family that become photos,
washed out by the hasty river of time.
Then nothing remains, only void lingers.

the cinematic orchestra - to build a home

There is a house built out of stone
Wooden floors, walls and window sills...
Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust...
This is a place where I don't feel alone
This is a place where I feel at home...

Cause, I built a home
for you
for me

Until it disappeared
from me
from you

And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust...

Out in the garden where we planted the seeds
There is a tree as old as me
Branches were sewn by the color of green
Ground had arose and passed it's knees

By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
I held on as tightly as you held onto me
I held on as tightly as you held onto me......


Cause, I built a home
for you
for me

Until it disappeared
from me
from you

And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust....

Dying slowly

The World has lost its grace,
everything is seen and discovered,
imagination has been turned into boredom
and everyone's thinking of another.

We force ourselves to please others
our whole lives complex as a relish
and dying slowly is what you do
because they would perish
if you decided for shooting yourself.

The bittersweetness of life
is the same as the bittersweetness of death,
and the branches of the trees that waver
resemble an arm saying goodbye to a wife
when she knows they haven't actually met.

It is the daunting feeling that surprises you
and fills you with doubt in your mind,
no one will ever try to find
the person you really are inside.

So nevermind the truth and nevermind it all,
just turn yourself mute
and join everyone else in the same fall.
Because sometimes, even knowing it's all vain
and we're always on the deadline's edge,
it takes a long time to end
and then there won't be even one friend.

Dying young

I have died a long time ago.
As the young boy whose body laid on the dirt,
face bloodied and no breath to register.
Understand, I've died too soon, I had to.
The metal shining with my identification
didn't attract me anymore.
When we trust and then we are left behind,
a big part within us dies.
I gave up on the world when the world gave me up.
I know you'll miss me, but you'll carry on.
I know I miss you and I'll always be alone.

The injustice

I'm not a joyful man,
not even when the sun is shining,
there is no biological trait in me
of being smiling on the outside
or even psychologically trying
to get me to smile on the inside.

The injustice of the righteous man,
I bare inside me like a hidden fate
and sooner or later everyone will know
I'm not their man to envy or hate.

I'd like to think that something of useful,
of good or seizable will come of this,
but I'm afraid I'm just fooling myself,
leading me to believe in the power of thoughts.

As the Universe unveiled, so did injustice,
for everything became relative and nothing granted.
There's a mixture of sadness and conformity,
just sleeping in the eyes of the men like me,
because we can't hide the secret
of never finding the shade under any tree.

Why the heck do you still show up, in my dreams?

Do we have unfinished business?
Does your mind still crosses my heart?
Or are you linked to mine in some way?
We could remain friends, but I have a problem: I can't trust you.
Is that a friendship worth giving a shot?
My confusion relays on not having much answers too.
I guess I'll keep on my individual rambling and carry on as I can.
That's not much and I can't really control my sub-conscience:
bloody lack of sleep every night, because I don't sleep, I dream.

I'm very tired, I've been like this for many years but didn't acknowledge.
The same thing happens with everything else that I don't acknowledge:
it all comes around in my mind at dawn while I should be sleeping;
dreams and nightmares where he doesn't appear anymore running towards me,
small, as when I last saw him, arms wide open,
but you instead, troubling me so much, leaving me with a strange feeling inside.

What are you to me? What do you really feel? Are you really able to be my friend
or is it just something you say out to the wind as so many words before?

I don't even know if I could use a friend right now...
and I haven't been this confused for a long time.
Yes, time, time will be the one to answer to it all.
And I'm betting it will be an empty answer too.
Maybe I'm just being unfair, maybe you've tried to make it right,
maybe just like in the dream you wrote me lots of letters unsent,
and maybe it's just what I wanted to believe,
that being like that there could actually be a redemption for us,
showing that our friendship existed and was worth saving.

When I left I had the feeling you were ready to carry on,
that I had given you the strength and support you needed to rise
and that without me near you could forget about your biggest errors
and start again; without having to face the Past all the time
I thought maybe you could forgive yourself and move on.
Of course I made it with so much sacrifice,
as I was used to, since the time of «love me without me, as I do you without you».

I was told by someone else that you were just fine, in a new life
and that you all didn't get my correspondence,
didn't even remember me at all
and that I should let you be and not contact you again
because I was making a fool of myself,
and that it was you who gave her my number to call,
that you knew she was going to tell me those things.
That was quite awful and disappointing to listen to,
(except to know you were fine and carrying it on)
it was the second time our relationship had been betrayed,
exposed to someone else who had nothing to do with it,
and that was what made me end it all.

Stillborn

Gently departs into the darkness,
the weary heart of the child
that doesn't get to see the madness
of the one's she is leaving behind.

There is no rage or despair,
no sorrow or fear,
any feeling to be compared
not even one shed tear.

The Universe is indifferent to everything,
it will still exist no matter what,
sometimes there can be something
but it's never enough to fill the slot.

deceitful appearances

I am the surfer who loves nature and rides the waves like it was the last thing that he's doing.

I am the writer that loves everything and everyone and doesn't leave his gloomy room, always writing novels, short tales and poems, trying to achieve something that he himself doesn't know, and never does.

I am the young woman who is always out, having fun and taking pleasure out of life of every ray of sun and moonlight.

I am the architect of those beautiful and celebrated building that you see every day in the horizon.

I am the career-oriented person who achieves all the wealth I wanted and recognition  from my colleagues.

I am the beloved housewife that feels that she's the luckiest woman on Earth for having her beautiful and united family.

I am the street artist who is happy with his freedom and roams around the world painting society on their city walls.

I am all these Men and many more, but I don't appear to be.

And our lives are nothing but our deceitful appearances.

The Philosopher

How I want to be remembered? As a poet and a thinker!

But... I can foresee that there are some things that might make it harder to happen. 

Even if in ten years from now, women have bigger roles in modern societies, I have my doubts concerning the way they will still be viewed by the general people.

Well, you see, the problem is that I am a woman who has spent her entire life observing and thinking, this in a world where it is assumed that women don't think and that instead they talk too much. 

Hmm, I've always believed that communication is the key for everything, to achieve harmony, as Heidegger's and others' philosophies meant it too... well, it didn't take him far I see, and as for the world... I might even risk to say it reached an "over flooded" situation, without even having anything to do with the glaciers defrosting.

How did we get to this point, in which people don't look at each others' faces no more, nor do they know the importance of a simple embrace?

It's all so sad, probably even more just because I am a poet and a thinker. Most of times I think I am unfit; my tormented mind reminds me of a different era, of Poe and Pessoa, where it could make a difference or at least to myself. But then again, in the end of the 19th century and early 20th, women hadn't much power of voice either. Even so, it seems to me, it should be much better than this apathy and indifference. 

à propos du "Eat, Pray, Love"

Many people try to find themselves.
Throughout their lives they struggle
from time to time
to make something meaningful
with the time they have.

I can't tell for sure if there are more women
or men, living this subtle torment,
but I see that everyone without exception
has forgotten to look in each others' eyes.

For everyone is so sure that within is the answer
and everyone is too busy
to risk on making the correct question,
this is such that the result is only one:
we don't ever find who we really are.