<center>I did this poem in portuguese and had to translate it, so it might look a little bit strange.
The Red Room
The light projects disformed shades
The closed door opens with a touch
There is no life, only people
The voices floates without weight
The lonely beings around the table
A glass, a plate, the survival
To survive, to keep alive, to keep apart
To become minimum, to become nothing
Everything is consumed in the red room
Return, go back, live
A hard step towards the door
The muscles contract, the body, the blood
The red gets in the being
The non-life becomes parasite
The madness gets in the mind
The life losts his magic
The blade reflects the red
The hand recognizes the fear
Everything is consumed in the red room
An end. A final. A start
The blood is free, the being unleashed
A red track in the soil
A step. A touch
The door opens
A step. A dream
The light tourns out
A step
A life. </center>
José was in the top of a building.
There, from above all, he could see the asleep city.
No light from a house or building.
No car on the street, not even a person or an animal could be seen.
Everything looked like a concrete desert.
Concrete, rocks and nothing more.
José was the only being in the world, at least that was his impression.
What was inhabiting the interior of the Old Jose's head?
Old José.
He wasn't called like this for a long time, the last one was when he met that child.
The kid walked with him when they liveed underneath the viaduct.
He never saw the child again.
It was a horrible afternoon.
The Old José was humiliated.
He felt pain, but the fear was lost.
New José.
He was a pure and sweet little kid, liveed in the dark shadows,
playing with death and waiting for the worse.
A day, a beautiful day, the light appeared in front of the baby eyes.
Child darkned by debris that lapidated his skin,
rips and risks left in the soul.
And the kid walked in the darkness, finding the beautiful and silver moon.
José remained.
Without life and love, without desire and passion.
And mainly without fear.
The fear that moves the body.
The fear that makes the fight.
The fear that vibrates the heart and makes the force to generate the emotion.
Yes, the fear of everything and the nothing.
Yes and no met themselfs in the lost soul of José.
Looking to the beatiful and silver moon,
looking for his fear, his last distrust.
Searching for life.
The emotions are necessary.
Good bye and hello.
Until tomorrow. Until today. Until never. Until always.
He fell.
From the high.
From above the life.
Everything passes in front of his eyes, he turns in the air,
looks at the sky, trying to find his reason,
unhappyly finds what he was looking for.
It is back there, in the middle of the blackout, surrounded by guardians.
The beautiful and silver moon.
The end. Forget the end. What matters is the fear.
Remember
Use that useless brain.
It is really hard to accept.
I know that, I have that weird conscience.
If you think that the use of this words is just a method
to force and twist your thought, you are partially correct.
Why? I am going to tell you why.
It's because a simple and pretty reason.
Everything, absolutely everything that we are saying and thinking
lead us to that famous and feared self-destruction.
Do you want to know why? Probably yes.
This why is what kills me, by the way, kills all of us.
I am going to explain quickly.
I know that it is inevitable, however I like to think that's not.
What a crazy talk. I am going directly to the subject.
We think. Me, you, your father and your mother.
We use our rational capacity.
We are different beings, we have the capacity to think, to find solutions.
We are really divine creatures, aren't we?
What a hard question, forget it.
Here is where my reasoning enters.
By the way, it is uselles too, because everything
in this world is uselles if it's formed inside a rationalized head.
I think I might expressed myself badly.
I am going to try againg.
Everything that comes from a thinking head is uselles.
Much prettier and easy to remember.
It is in the style of phrases used by philosophy books or theories.
Far from considering what I said a theory.
To tell you the truth I fear that.
This is really bad, sorry my friend, don't listen to me.
Distortions.
Distorted voice.
Resonant strokes.
Unconscious vibrations.
Continuity and modulation.
Everything is changedded into a second.
A second that lasts years.
Biological apex.
Emotions forged by an ilusionist.
Empty voice.
Force and improvisation.
Improvisation.
Rain created in a thought.
To think, to turn freely in knowledge.
To dream.
But to dream.
I can be repetitive.
I admit.
I can become personal at some moment.
I can look confused.
I admit.
I can repeat a word or idea a million times.
I can.
I can fail to find ideas.
I can.
I can keep turning and look confusing.
That's it.</center>
The man.
There he was.
Standing tall on the top of a rock.
Looking at the greatness of the world.
That endless blue.
The end was near.
The sky was darkning.
The moon genereated silver-plated illumination.
The waves were metallic.
Waving walls.
They exploded havly on the shore.
From the above, the man saw everything.
Thousands of scared people running.
Trying to scape.
Scape is inevitable.
It's proper of the humanity.
It's human.
It's a failure.
An error.
Seated on top of the world, on the shoulders of the giant dwarves.
My Poetry/Poems
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