Post Secret

Fernando Pessoa

Não sei quantas almas tenho.
Cada momento mudei.
Continuamente me estranho.
Nunca me vi nem acabei.
De tanto ser, só tenho alma.
Quem tem alma não tem calma.
Quem vê é só o que vê,
Quem sente não é quem é,

Atento ao que sou e vejo,
Torno-me eles e não eu.
Cada meu sonho ou desejo
É do que nasce e não meu.
Sou minha própria paisagem;
Assisto à minha passagem,
Diverso, móbil e só,
Não sei sentir-me onde estou.

Por isso, alheio, vou lendo
Como páginas, meu ser.
O que segue não prevendo,
O que passou a esquecer.
Noto à margem do que li
O que julguei que senti.
Releio e digo : "Fui eu ?"
Deus sabe, porque o escreveu.

Everything I Write, Goes In Vain!

You are only face and hair
A beautiful face
And dark hair
And everything I write
I write for you
Light words and shadow words
F-words and S-words
But you are only face and hair
A dark face and beautiful hair
And everything I write
I write for you
And everything I write
Goes in vain
Tumbling words and crumbling words
Melting words and evaporating words
F-words and S-words
But you are only face and hair
A dark face and dark hair
A beautiful face and beautiful hair
And everything I write
I write for you
And everything I write
Goes in vain!

parece que meu hiato criativo passou...

Addicted

Addictive - your effect,
Like a true narcotic.
Demand arises periodically-
Through nerves
Through blood
To every hair-pores.

It's three,
Then three;
It's seven,
Then seven.

Pumping heart
Thumping finger(forbidden!)
Some days pumps faster
Thumps harder;
Some days pumps slower
Thumps softer.

to write a letter.

A letter arrived God knows when,
And laid by the bed side table forgotten,
Today on a cleaning spree
I opened it,
The envelope had my name on it
And my address,
But to my surprise, no sender’s name,
In it was two papers,
One blank
Nothing written, not even a dot,
The other one carried a small note:
“Write with blood,
Wrench your heart,
Squeeze your soul,
Delve in pain and then create a poem
Full of thought”


And now I sit idle,
Knowing not what,
Is there an answer to such a letter at all?
Addressed to where and to whom?

Vertical Poem Of A Pessimist

When you are not here
The sky plots against me,
"You don't come for any work,
but to see me"
But I never get to see anything
Except a few patches of my own blood.

Earth is flat, not round,
I never reach the same place
However much straighter I walk,
And it has the horizontal base,
And we are the vertical people
walking on it.

Vertical men, vertical women
Trees and buildings, all vertical
And the earth is flat
Like a round-table-top,
Sky envelopes it like a hemispherical bowl
Holding it firmly on its circular edge;
It doesn't let anything fall off the edge,
So I walk fearlessly
On the flat earth
And write poems on it.

Vertical poems on horizontal pages
Vertical words, vertical phrases,
Similes and metaphors, all vertical
And the earth is flat
Like a round-table-top
And the sky is like a hemispherical bowl
And I don't mind its plotting against me
And I walk on the flat earth
Quite fearlessly.