Limos... Liquens... Opaco espelho cego!
(Cecília Meireles)
reflecting a world of things,
I only feign,
to be honest I can’t stop
being the same
I have no memory,
nor do I retain as a photo frame,
what passes my way
drops no shade and no stain
our common fate consists in breaking,
but, if we live to tell, our sight
slowly fades away, under cataracts,
till we go blind below our cracks
there are those that don’t hold their water,
as the ones that float on a lake skin,
similar to amphibious creatures
sometimes they stall, sometimes they spring
if the refrained are, according to the frame,
pieces from the Baroque or the Renaissance,
the watery best resemble
impressionist paintings
though there is often in both cases
the risk that, approaching too closely,
in a slip the subject trips
inside its object
love in reverse - the one we have in ourselves:
nobody really resists to catch a glimpse,
vanity ruins me, one day I’ll end up shattering,
just too eager to see more of mes
somehow or other, to love too much is our doom,
and yet, putting myself under someone else’s skin,
dull as I am, that’s what I still can most hardly do,
I’d much rather hang inside a closed room
and only home in
my own chin
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