Não escrevo palavras bonitas, escrevo sentimentos bonitos...!
I do not write nice words! I write beautiful thoughts ...

segunda-feira, 3 de junho de 2013


In these four walls 
I white the world. 
With magicians and ephemeral scenarios 
Common denominators 
At the new order. 

The orchids on the table absorb the air. 
The cover of the book «Portrait of the artist as a young man»
Of James Joyce is torn. 
The lamp is loose 
And everything is abstraction. 

I find myself somewhere between 
The time lived and the time spent
I Think and dream! ... 
The corridor is narrow, 
I follow sleepwalking foot by foot
The house shudders and the screams intensify! 
My dad had dreams 
And the death has deep names, 
Early wills and Bacchus by company
My mother, was north on mild winds 
Sang the desire of things 
And follow the flowers. 
Sometimes, Bacchus, released his anger, 
And everything was scary, curved and frightening

I´m an ultimate time 
That arises from a short space of time, 
Where there were flowers in the jar, and fruits in the orchard. 
The seeds were fertile and hovered
I was a genetics hope, 
A spring swim, a centripetal fruit!

I am a dormant strength
A wrong destination 
Harvested Van Gogh seeds, 
A epicenter, a click, a blackout. 
I´m a want, who, that’s so much want 
Get to believe, that everything is love 
Burning around the campfire 
Dropping flares. 

I'm going against the madness... to my madness! 
The measure of things, 
Are inconsequential acts, but alive. 
Lose myself in time, and follow the wind. 
The feeling is the theme lived 
And goes far away beyond the life and death
Is a want, which jumping the bonfire
Is a scratch of eyes, with cognitive demands
Expressed in my hands 
It is a birth in me 
A graphic expression of words 
Incarcerated in shyness.

I say, that the beautiful is not beautiful, If not complete! 
To my eyes the beauty is a whole, 
Because the love of things, it is not only appreciation. 
But, also the life, the pleasure, the feeling…
Be for moments the "Creator". 
Or the essence of the work, be empathetic form,
Or be louder, and fly!
Fly into the night. 
Feel, by brief moments, the desired juice
Fade out in small clicks.
-You only can, have one love! 
-Said my brother
-Is the truth of the times 
-But I don't live of the times 
The times live in me! 
And in me I am the time, I am my time! 
And in my time, I am a believer, I'm people 
Who lives and feels like everyone else. 
And in love, I'm free, I'm bigamous, 
Would weigh a boat, with one love!

I'm a scratch of pen, a sequence of chords a flow of brushes 
Sometimes, deny the color, other I´m St. John fire. 
Sometimes, I am a melodic balance, other´s a barking sound. 
Sometimes, the poem is in me firm and wonderful
And takes me in these insomnia, is a river in my hand, is life running. 
Are forms to flow in successive mutations
Is a matter that resurrects in the dawns 
Is a time only mine
An arise of senses, 
A smell, nauseating and starring 
A nightingale singing, Is the nature, 
That involves me, and I want to be nature! ... 
Because I`m a strength of her. I want to feel like her 
Be in her and her in me. 
I want sing to her and sing with her
I want paint to her being she´s essence 
I want to sculpt her and be substance
I want playing her being she´s melody. 
I want to be dead and live in her 
I want to be alive and breathe with her! 
Want to wake up white her
And discover all the names.

Be part of the entire whole 
One whole of everyone, a whole breathable, 
A Harmonic whole, a world whole!
Without doors, the windows are the soul. 
A green world, with herbs to grow, 
With the flowers to sprout, with the children playing 
And the whole world to fly! ... 

And I sitting here, in to the night 
Alone, with the world and everything 
Is abstraction.

José M. Silva

Sem comentários:

Enviar um comentário