(image by Chloe)
Nos intervalos
de viver
escrevo histórias
que não seremos
povoadas com
intenções de azul
e lírios
penduramos desejos
nos galhos mais altos
dos baobás
você, quase real,
segura o meu
coração.
At the intervals
of living
I write stories
we won't be
inhabited by
intentions of
lillies and blue
we hang dreams
to the highest branches
of baobabs
a nearly real you
holds my heart.
beautiful! thank you!!!
ReplyDeletethe first lines hold me with their suggestion and i am caught in wonder right there,
ReplyDeleteAt the intervals
of living
I write stories
this is both true and untrue, how life is divided into a series of (mis)adventures and experiences, as though they appear in sacs, micro-living and learning events, but too it is one long extension from the past into the future, never one moment static. how do we ever manage to stop and write anything? nothing is ever done.
and then i am caught again in the curiosity of a nearly real you. what, oh what, could be real of anyone?
xo
erin
escrevo histórias
ReplyDeleteque não seremos
isn't this true? we write other lives for ourselves, beside the real life .. and sometimes it is hard to know the difference -- those alternate histories assume great importance ....
O que são as palavras se não as entrelinhas da vida.
ReplyDeleteWhenever I read your poetry I feel so full inside and capable of beautiful things. This piece rings so true and it's one I can relate with. The hardest part is realizing that that one person was only an illusion.
ReplyDelete