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.

The river of memories washes them away into the sea of oblivion.

We said we gave up on love and everyone knows it's just because we don't want to hurt anymore. 

Love is just one of so many things in this world. But is it the one that makes it all worth it and that we can't really live without? 

Thirst

You go through life with a thirst for many things that sometimes you don't recognize immediately. 

If you can't get satisfaction you'll just keep on searching for something that doesn't exist. Human unsatisfaction doesn't have to harm everyone around you too. Just remember you can control and balance your thirst, like everything else. 

- Will it ever stop? The sensation that everything has been done, said, written, told, painted, photographed, registered, imagined, created, by all possibilities of every human that was ever alive. 

And yet this hopefulness and hungriness for universes to discover. 

It's said that it's hard to forget the face of the one you love.

My body is made of veins that fight every second to not burst of its bloody tears. 

Halves of the same Soul

From half of me pours half of you, 

It's the touching of souls 

that it's said to be love, 

Even when you thought you had no soul anymore. 

The messy worlds inside us

cannot contain the strenght of our soul. 

It's the sky and the ocean that are halves of the same blue world. 

Mirror, mirror, can you see?

The confirmation that gladly everyone is better without you;

The explanation that you rather know they're happy;

The comprehension of how finite every gaze is;

The fascination with every facial line of every person you've seen;

The extension of your heart being so infinite that you still love everyone you've ever loved. 

Can you find, in the mirror, me?

They saw me as contaminated 

Tarnished by blood and soul

Dipped in tragic inconvenient woes

Too sensitive and too honest

Too candid and too earnest 

Nobody likes wounded people

Thrown into mud by a stormy life

Everyone wants to forget sadness 

And be with the ones who smile

Though the distraught and downtrodden 

are the ones who are torn and abandoned 

And who definitely need support 

Everyone just cuts them off

Like if they had a contagious disease 

They can't stand a truly open heart

Because they're all emotionally rotten

And they're unable to just love and care

Like it's the only thing that matters

"There are many ways of dying. The worst of them is to continue living." - in 'This must be the place'

Bad blood and a broken heart 

assured she could never have happiness 

Happiness is made of rainbow memories and then with time one of three things might happen: they turn grey, or black, or white.

What am I doing? Just writing words to fit the feelings that need to get expressed.

• she had a heart with a hole of the size of texas and a mind packed like the streets on rush 

hour

08.06.2017

Only a great poet knows that the word serenity goes with sad, and bliss with exquisite.
Do you think that no word stands alone and all words need other words? And that there's a true democracy between words for they all mingle, from the more royal to the more common?
Do you also insist that words are bound to their meaning?
Well, I'm not into all that: I believe a word stands for itself, no concept or meaning tied up into it. Once a neologist, always a neologist.

If it's not a spoiler, it's a teaser or preview ;) 

Just wanting peace, quiet, and being able to sleep one day in this wretched existence, without this streaming of filth drenching the whole life, with its scary torturous noises of urban nightmares clawing deep into my ear the old aches and sorrows ...

Separate the eyelids 
Set them apart as if they were the curtains for the universe 
Those veils to reveal the cosmos 
Separate the charcoal from the diamond 
The pitch from shine 
The foam and the water  
The sea in your eyes 
As if Moses would return to earth 
And one would go back to the origins of darkness and light 

It's all yours.
It's all mine.


(addition of "it's all mine" on 20/05/2021)

Can it be you and me against the world?

No more bad news
No more children dying
No more war
No more terror
No more hunger
No more human error

Why can't it be?

Let Love consume you
Till there's only skin of passion,
Bone of desire, 
and heart of fire.

The capital of pain that you gain
Will rip the flesh from your body
and thirst for love will dry you out.

Truth's Epitaph

Society made its elements walking codebars
and now not even truth can save them all
because fake news killed truth, a former star.

No one is crying for truth
no one is mourning its disappearance
and not even freedom appeared in the burial.

...

No one really dies.

“An average human looks without seeing, listens without hearing, touches without feeling, eats without tasting, moves without physical awareness, inhales without awareness of odour or fragrance, and talks without thinking.” 
― Leonardo da Vinci

Next time I see you

Next time I see you'll be wearing sunflowers in your hair and your skin will be magical like in a fairy tale.
We'll go walking int he park, strolling through the cozy breeze all the way till it gets dark.
You'll take me to eat in a place that's specially open only for us and it will be the best dinner we have ever had.
Next time I see you, I'll be the one on the top of the mountain breathing deep and shining from so much healthy oxygen.
We'll go to the beach and into the warm water and the skies above will be of an intense blue that we've never seen before.
I'll take you somewhere new where we can be whoever we truly are.

Why are there so many tormented souls? People who loved and lost and continued to love, people who saw their childhood ripped from them, people who are faithful and true to themselves...

Love isn't love
It's just and illusion of the mind
That drags the heart relentlessly

Post-euphoria, what remains?
A shred of emptiness,
the vacuum that sucks your whole being 
into the blasting sound speakers
that still reverberate as the cops stare
trying to resist to give into the music. 

Fleeting dancing lights

Travel to see faces
Travel to see souls
Dancing and whistling
In the passing time.

I get to see your eyes,
they shimmer in the spotlights

...

[ was written and left uncomplete on purpose, on an unique and incredible day's ending packed with surprises, on 17th May 2017, when I had brief but profound encounter and good connection, with Zaim, who liked this poem I was writing amidst a concert for the first time and unknowingly made me not quit posting here and in www.poesiadodesassossego.blogspot.com what I write. feeling so lucky and am so grateful for the few belle anime of pure heart that I still get to find in this life :))) ]

Save the pain - ('cause even me not being a believer I would pray if that would indeed help in saving)

Will you go into the bright light
when November reaches its end
and all the leaves have fallen
as if prematurely crying for you?

Will you just join the fate of the 27 club
and no longer get to vibrate with life
sharing music and balm for us lost souls
roaming in this god forsaken Earth?

I hope you get to stay and continue
to irradiate hope and tenderness
and fairness and change and love
for everyone around as always

Or even if you get a bit more disappointed
to see most humans true colours
I hope you get to stay and continue
because I know you will always save us.

Dive in in Transparency

It's not what you have to be, 
It's who you are, 
No masks for society, 

I get to see the real you
Your being in all its profoundness, 
I get to glimpse it and then dive in
As in that moment when a body enters the sea, 
straight headed, emptied mind, ready to be flooded.

- Do fish cry?
- No, they're already drowning in a sea of sorrows. 

till now my best possible comprehension about it + Quotes Fernando Pessoa

Poetry damns me and makes me survive. 

[till now was always mainly the thought: poetry is a curse that I carry]

----

+

in The Selected Prose of Fernando Pessoa, by Richard Zenith : 

"I was a poet animated by philosophy, not a philosopher with poetic faculties. I loved to admire the beauty of things, to trace in the imperceptible and through the minute the poetic soul of the universe.
...
Poetry is in everything - in land and in sea, in lake and in riverside. It is in city too - deny it not - it is evident to me here as I sit: there is poetry in this table, in this paper, in this inkstand; there is poetry in the rattling of the cars on the streets, in each minute, common, ridiculous motion of a workman who on the other side of the street is painting the signboard of a butcher's shop.

My inner sense predominates in such a way over my five senses that I see things in this life - I do believe it - in a way different from other men. There is for me - there was - a wealth of meaning in a thing so ridiculous as a door key, a nail on a wall, a cat's whiskers. There is to me a fullness of spiritual suggestion in a fowl with its chickens strutting across the road. There is to me a meaning deeper than human fears in the smell of sandalwood, in the old tins on a dirt heap, in a matchbox lying in the gutter, in two dirty papers which, on a windy day, will roll and chase each other down the street.

For poetry is astonishment, admiration, as of a being fallen from skies taking full consciousness of his fall, astonished at things. As of one who knew things in their soul, striving to remember this knowledge, remembering that it was not thus he knew them, not under these forms and these conditions, but remembering nothing more."

Us

We are the ones who know "life is shit and then you die",
but we try to find beauty to survive 
We are the one who don't disguise 
and know that darkness will always be alive
but still we manage to see the profound lights. 

"A Day of Sun" by Alexander Search, Fernando Pessoa

I love the things that children love

        Yet with a comprehension deep

That lifts my pining soul above

        Those in which life as yet doth sleep.

All things that simple are and bright,

        Unnoticed unto keen‑worn wit,

With a child's natural delight

        That makes me proudly weep at it.

I love the sun with personal glee,

        The air as if I could embrace

Its wideness with my soul and be

        A drunkard by expense of gaze.

I love the heavens with a joy

        That makes me wonder at my soul,

It is a pleasure nought can cloy,

        A thrilling I cannot control.

So stretched out here let me lie

        Before the sun that soaks me up,

And let me gloriously die

        Drinking too deep of living's cup;

Be swallowed of the sun and spread

        Over the infinite expanse,

Dissolved, like a drop of dew dead

        Lost in a super‑normal trance;

Lost in impersonal consciousness

        And mingling in all life become

A selfless part of Force and Stress

        And have a universal home;

And in a strange way undefined
Lose in the one and living Whole
The limit that I call my mind,The bounded thing I call my soul.

- Alexander Search, Fernando Pessoa 17-3-1908

once, I've put something like this description as an attempt...

 - (...) varieties of artist in the eternal pursuit of discovering the masterpiece. 

No one knows (também publicado em Poesia do Desassossego)

Os teus passos que eu oiço não têm mais rosto
E os meus olhos já não têm mais cara

"Depois dá notícias" é o breve,
quase sussurrado, apelo na despedida,
e que muitas vezes encontra a resposta em
"Depois combinamos",
com símile vacuidade de resultados.

"Mande notícias do outro lado do mundo, diz quem fica",
volta e meia dança nostalgicamente no pensamento.

Não vejo mais nada senão tudo o que há no mundo
que não és tu,
mas o mundo inteiro cabe em ti,
com todos os seus detalhes,
e por isso encontro-te sempre que te perco.

Sentimos "Everytime we say goodbye I die a little"
numa década como todas aquelas décadas em que o verdadeiro amor era clamado
e de tantas vezes morrer, como fénix, foi ficando imortalizado.

Being a poet is more than being a poet.
He had no freight about death but he didn't want to die,
never yet.

In every day death will peak in,
friends that are gone
and so many people along
all this indefinite duration path.

Where is the sound of the ocean,
where is the poem that bursts like a wave
hitting your heart?

Your voice will be the balm,
and harmony and beauty with which you lullaby us,
will be our garment for this life's atonement.

Falling in love rhymes

Don't change your hair if you care
about the way it blows in the air
and the tenderness you share
with the fortunate that are fair
and get to be your deserving pair.

You said you've never seen that before
and suddenly you felt someone at your door
looked outside and his sight threw you to the floor
as you thought you couldn't possibly love anymore

"I fall in love too easily" came to your mind,
never even realizing his smile so kind,
your heart started melting like a peeling rind

"I fall in love too fast" continued the song
and your face blushing as if you've done something wrong.

There will always be two benches on that street, 
on that park, 
and whenever and wherever it is light and it is dark, 
there will be grandsons and grandmothers 
sitting side by side 
with a tenderness 
that in your whole life 
will never catch again your eye.

Just writing a poem

I will now write a poem.
The poem will be writing it.

Yes.

The End.

God is like those three Mizaru monkeys: blind, deaf and mute.

"society, you're a crazy breed, hope you're not angry but I disagree"

No nobility or character at all among humans
when they do everything for the wrong reasons:
charity, because they need to feel like they're doing something good;
loving and caring because they need what people give them;
putting children in the world just for their own selfish reasons;
apologizing (always insincerely) only because they need people;
and then they just do it all over again and perpetuate it in their prole
as the everlasting unsatisfied superficial people faking all the time
because they were breeded like that in society's culture.

A glance and a glimpse

What shall we stay for?