The Purest Love

Você não sabe muito sobre amor até ter encontrado alguém que te escreva um poema. Essas são jóias escritas para mim.

(You don't know much about love until you have met someone who wrote you a poem. These jewels have been written to me.)


Alzheimer has gotten to me
these past days,

my face can no longer
feel the wind
the way it used to feel.

the sand smell,
flees from my nose.

I can't notice
the few hairs remaning in my head and
everytime I accidentally cut myself
my soul bleeds out of this old body of mine.

it's like
I was someday
is gone
and never

I am lack.

once I knew
that remembering
is important

but the only way to be immortal
is forgetting.

and even If
I don't remember,

I will never forget.

(por Marlon O.)


Your mouth pours words
that flow into
my ears, willing
to become part
of the Indian Ocean.
I heard this little tale,
that when you were born
people would seat
around your bassinet
believing that
you were a waterfall

none was thirsty
around you.

You never talked,
you whispered.

I know,
I've felt
your breath on my neck,

I know,
it is in the wind
you keep
all of your secrets,

and every single one of them,
is also in your heart, big as a nation.

I will never leave this place,
I will never leave Kenya.

(por Marlon O.)


You, dear one,
dwell in the pages of a sepia season;
you have the heart of a hot air balloon
that knows its way through many shades of sky;
red lips touch the yellow triangles of the sunflower,
and a corner chair lost between trees:
this is you.

I send kisses to you
in a paper boat.
(By Kerry Connor

A girl wishes for wings, but your hands would do.
She wishes for a chariot, but a beat up truck and you
blows away the Saturday night blues.

A girl longs for words strung beautifully in an unique combination
A glance that lingers in utter fascination
But the silence of the night, with you by her side,
Soothes her unstrung nerves

A girl might want a thousand different things,
And yet it is you, with all your quirky imperfections that gives,
Her the satisfaction that no poem, no imagination can ever bring!

You are her spring.

(By Meena Iyer)

How many choices are there within a minute, Kenia?

And who’s to know, when we sit at eventide
upon the porch, if it was all for the best
after every tear we shed to get our own way?

Who can tell the good from the bad ones, dear friend?
Things felt right at the time, for one,
but a thousand years could not surprise
the other. Not even the shower of stars
that passed through your eyes,
when you told him he was your universe,
could move him then.

If thirteen years can change a man, Kenia,
why waste sixty seconds more?
Even the nursery rhymes we sing to children
warn of the inconstant Peter, the fly-away Paul.
The day for knitting this story into a warm shawl
for younger shoulders will arrive,
but it has a different ending.

(By Kerry Connor)

We'll make it through seasons
under a mysterious sky,
painted with a different gray.
And so when we get home
one of us can use a story.

(Por Gui)

(Porque não doía mais hesitar,
achei-te à parte
das condições de linhas iniciais)

Enquanto vemos
um diferente e lindo cinza
atravessar as estações,
uma destas manhãs
estaremos em casa.

(Por Gui)

Há um suspiro baixo
Que revolve o singelo
Que escorre nos dentes
E respinga na boca
- Palavra

Há também aquela
Que marca de preto
Que embarca depressa
E encharca os olhos
- Palavra

E há artesanatos
Quem chore navalha
Quem engula muralha
E teça corações
- Poeta

(Por Erick B.)

Um carinho, uma estrela
todas as noites no mesmo ponto:
eu e você colados
nos planos de Deus.
(Por Gui)

a te achar em todo lugar.

O amargo sabor que vinha
de ventos contrários
foi embora, de humor doce como um verso de amor.

Aprendi a te achar em todo lugar hoje.
Todo e único lugar.

(Por Gui)

The raindrops are gone for a while.
I wasn't told any reasons.
I'm hopeful.
I'm homeless.

(By Gui)

Ela rabisca sem tema
sem título
Como se tudo fosse uma obra só
Como se tudo fosse um sonho só.

(Por Bruno Honorato)

Kenia used to keep all her feelings under wraps
with smiles and niceness.
Her simplicity
was a lake skirted by beautiful landscape
which would drive anyone who dared crossing it
to drowning.

(By Erick B.)

my friend
across the water...
we wave

the city hosts them all
in the depths
busy – between the tall dark handsome – institutions
they climb to find the desk with their name
becoming so successful
at hiding
their shadows.
like an addict
they hide it
from each other
mostly from themselves
never truly successful
at disobeying its demands
all obsessive compulsives
now in socially acceptable ways
some brave souls
walk their shadows in the park
where the bright sun mocks
but feels warm somewhat
sensing moments of comfort
when they visit her
for this is where she dances
unafraid of hers
she paints her shadow
in bright colours
and speaks to it
like a friend
they used to think her crazy
now she offers to paint
their shadows also
one day they will.

Da torre pós-Babel,
a alma livre
lambe a paisagem extensa
com a língua duplicada:
sentimento e razão.

Você é a metade inteira do sorriso estampado em rostos.
Você é o laço laçado entre a felicidade e a vida.
Você é o sorriso encantador das crianças.
É a luz, poesia e vento.
A musa, a mãe, minha amiga encantada.

É o verso escrito,
Torto e brilhante.
É inesperada e criativa.

O asterisco feliz e curioso.
A estrela e um livro de coração gigante e

(por Luiza)

1 comment:

Deixe suas linhas tortas │Leave your crooked lines│