Sonhos Caligráficos

The pleasure of spending time with myself. Hearing my own songs, my tastes, my preferences… It’s been a while since I gave myself the attention I deserve. Living to write, to sing, to stay in silence. Giving my mind time and space to create. If I could I would live every day like that, waking up enjoying my own company, bringing out just what my inner-self desires. As Hana said in The English Patient, with a cat and favorite pens, having a door no lover could cross, no outsider – just me, my notes, my books, my own little space and my thoughts. A cage, but a beautiful one; no, not a cage, a container. Containing all the thoughts, the emotions, the half-made whispered sentences that left my lips while I was writing, the fugitive wishes that passed my heart in a shadow; too quick for my eyes to see, too light-stepping to be captured. How will my life be? I stare into the eyes of my reflection. Who is this one, gazing back at me? Outside, yellow windows, bright white lamps. Brighten ba

One day the waltzing end Of the street lit fire And she knew as if she could And ran.  Besides, it was not only fire  It was memories and love It was sweat and dance  Consumed in flames.  She stood by ashes And cracking messes  And lovely curtains burned  It was so random A day in June The smell of ruins Wind flew by her party shoes Her sleeping gown With blue laces, all alone She turned her back And tears were wet On her cheek, but still weak To feed the starving flames.

You were so fragile that day Your voice would speak in cracks As if a broken sense of self  Was subsisting under skin. I barely knew the words  They somehow didn't matter As your eyes stared at mine Deep pools of green water. You were trapped in a body But now you would be free. That's why you left  And drowned Inside of me.