sexta-feira, 24 de janeiro de 2014
quinta-feira, 23 de janeiro de 2014
Time wears the weight of words out, my son. It often reduces us to the cold dust of a lost embrace, even if it doesn’t make any sense at all. Cruel, it makes doors widely open, even when not surrounded by walls. It is violent, just like the hiss of a roar, left out with a grotesque smile. You are left to endure the silence of words, like necrosis, opening and eroding wounds left to heal.
Never think you are lost, just let time ease the pain of this sour vinegar that is such numbing pain. Never torture yourself on the consensual pain that makes you feel useless rather than a soulful fighter. Let silence distill the hidden morbidity in those winding alleys of the human mind, like desert streets with derelict houses in a demented brain. You'll see bare bodies, fruits that fell earlier from the trees, an inert, freezing landscape devoid of life, as the bitter feelings of Men huddle on the floor of an empty earth.
When you make a stupid mistake, you will surely suffer. You will probably start feeling like a stormy sea, but very strong winds will desire for your body and soul, pulling you over and over, strengthening your character. It is in there, where your free soul and force runs void of romance and humanity, now transformed in intemmpestuous fury. This will haunt you, the very state of awareness will kill you, since it has not the power of making you smile, nor to destroy you or corrupt you any longer. In this moment, cling on the words you no longer have, and even jump on them longingly, saying everything you feel straight from the heart, with the purest tenderness there is to be. Even with sadness, humble Men are able to find the smile that has been taken away from them.
It is useless to fight against it, this unawareness of people surrounding you, suffering for knowing you can no longer state what you once wished to say, and know that the condition of being human is only limited… You will feel your empty hands from the impossibility, for not possessing the right words for each and every moment in your life, and more than ever you will feel lost!
And yet, sometimes, words are our worst enemies. They do not know us, they do not know how we are, they are aliens, useless, scattered, they exit the body without the might of a verb, with the futile eloquence of a useless dream.
Never make the mistake of wishing to open a shore without the right words, previously measured before being pronounced, my son, before attaching yourself to silence as if it was a lake of perfect serenity. In each and every problem or adversity, look for its advantage, since pessimism is only good at the moment, and your untamable spirit will overcome any obstacles you may encounter with the laborious tenacity of an ant.
segunda-feira, 20 de janeiro de 2014
quinta-feira, 16 de janeiro de 2014
terça-feira, 14 de janeiro de 2014
Um dia o Homem parou,
Nada... Nem acção!
Que vivia rodeado de abjecão.
Encontrou sua mulher traindo,
Apenas saiu de casa sorrindo,
E nunca mais voltou.
Tinha um bom cargo,
O melhor salário,
Um pesado fardo,
E um superior abecedário...
O que fazer? Perguntou!
Por todo lado havia viajado,
De tudo havia escutado,
Até guerra miséria e morte afrontou.
Estava cansado, mutilado,
Pela natureza do ser humano, caminhou...
Seu destino estava traçado,
E assim da vida desdenhou.
Safa!... Poucos anos lhe restavam,
Morrer sem se conhecer?
Sabia que os anos devastam,
Não tardaria o anoitecer.
Queria um verdadeiro império,
Sem dinheiro construído,
Não o seu inútil vitupério.
Nesse dia tornou-se num eremita,
Jogou o relógio fora,
Procurou uma gruta, e nela agora dormita.
Sem o mundo que o desafora.
Se passaram os anos, sete...
Agora sentia um adocicado assete,
Afinal de que lhe servira a tecnologia,
Se esta infeliz trazia infelicidade por analogia?
De vez em quando, ao longe, via um ser humano,
Mas logo se escondia,
Encantado pela vida e sua melodia.
Antes preferia ser melómano.
Quando a noite rompia,
Se deitava contando estrelas sob a lua cheia,
E neste império de luz sorria,
Tornara a sua vida numa semicolcheia.
Miguel Martins de Menezes