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Prosa – Prose

I feel old. So old.  Right now I could have 93. The weight of the world upon my shoulders. I’m hunchbacked. I need a cane to drag myself around.

I‘m old within. I saw so much sorrow in my days… Immeasurable pain and just little relief.

I saw myself crying. In bed, in rain. Alone, accompanied, in vain. Until my eyes were red, my tears dried out, until I had no air.

I let despair guide me. My pain, my cane. The only thing I had to hold on to. To keep me real, to make me feel.

I wanted to feel. I wanted to ache, to sob, to burn. To die and never come back. To die without notice, in the dark. No tears, no notes.

I didn’t. I did not. I’m here – alive. And although I feel like 65 now I’m crawling my way up again as I write these words down.

I‘m fun. I’m smart. I learn quick and have a pure heart. I wish people well, I cry with their misery. I’m the most empathetic person you’ll ever meet.

I read, I write. I know good music. I’m fun. I laugh a lot and make people laugh with me. Sometimes I even think I’m pretty in some twisted way.

I forget this things easily too. It may be because of my age. But I’m here. I’m fighting against all odds.

I‘m not always winning. Oh, no. Some days darkness comes by – just to say Hi! It’s there, hiding in the corner of my weak heart. I have to watch it close otherwise it haunts me again.

*

When you think I’m crazy, yes! Maybe I am. But I stumbled through so much you’d think I’m pretty sane.

When you don’t want understand what even I can’t explain… Well, maybe it’s not our fault – we’re just exploring new terrain.

When you run away without warning, you’re leaving me alone in the rain.

When you don’t give your attention to me and waste the friendship I thought we were trying to built that’s your loss too.

When you feel threatened by me, don’t. I wouldn’t trapped or hurt you, ever. I’m like no other that came before in your way.

When you don’t talk it’s your fault. Tell me. Tell me always. I’m open to whatever may come.

*

So, I have a treat: let’s walk this together? As friends, as lovers, whatever may be. Shall we?

IMG_2472-2

Tahaki Reserve – New Zealand

sou a árvore na margem
e o rio pede passagem.
revolto e inconstante,
caudaloso e vibrante.

o vento vem me chacoalhar
o rio as minhas folhas a levar…
(como o invejo, amaldiçoo!)
e eu, parada,
onde não queria estar.

o tempo passa,
eu envelheço,
crio casca,
amadureço.

mas não me mexo…
não me mexo,
desfaleço.

*

Quando acordo
não sou eu.
Sem folhas,
sem galhos,
sou semente dita morta
levada pelo vento.

muito tempo demorei,
terras distantes visitei,
flores encontrei,
de espinhos desviei.

e em meio a vulcões e montanhas
terra fértil encontrei.

em meio a lembranças e futuro, brotarei.
as magoas esquecerei, frutificarei.
morrerei em paz com o rio que um dia invejei.

- – –
You can read the translation by clicking here.

I wish I had a Vinicius life style. With travels and languages and lovers and dramas and booze. With awesome friends and poetry everywhere.

I wish I could take this poetry out of me as beautifully as he used to do. And make it memorable for someone as he does for me.

I wish someone could make music out of my sorrows. Or that I could drown them in whiskey as classy as he used to.

I wish I had as many platonic lovers as he did. And that I could write the most beautiful songs for each one of them – as they were so important and so brief at the same time.

I wish I knew who is my Orixá. And that he/her could tell me that love is great just when it hurts!

I wish I could leave this life knowing that I cried and lost my peace but that nobody ever had as much as me, Camará!

Vinicius, velho, Saravá!

* * *

This text was written while listening this awesome video – the best names of Brazilian music playing together. Songs are: Berimbau/Consolação/Canto de Ossanha (my favorites by Vinicius de Moraes) and I took the liberty to translate part of the lyrics and mix with my own words.

Vinicius de Moraes, Tom Jobim, Toquinho e Miucha! :)

A coisa que mais me incomoda é saber que não vou te encontrar mais, por acaso, no elevador. Ou que você não vai mais me convidar pra sair. Ou que eu não posso mais te fazer cantar as musicas infantis mais bobas no meio rua (e te lembrar sua sobrinha de 3 anos). Nem te mandar mensagens dizendo que quero subir. Nem recebe-las de volta, com você me esperando.

Ou como eu te perturbava com a minha fala incessante. Que você não vai mais me tentar fazer ficar quieta por dois minutos – e desistir, porque eu sempre falo antes do tempo terminar. Que eu não vou poder te ajudar a ficar feliz, ou me deprimir junto contigo.

A forma como a gente riu junto, reclamou junto, bebeu e dancou – ou não, simplesmente viemos pra casa, tristes com o fim.

A sua curiosidade morbida sobre os outros caras que eu sai ou a sua franqueza em falar sobre as suas ex.

O jeito que você segurou minha cabeça. O modo como me abracou, no ponto final. O jeito que usou pra que eu te desse atencao. Varias e varias vezes. Ou como seu sono era tao profundo que você nunca ouvia meu despertador ou me via ir embora, descalca, no elevador…

Sao as promessas não cumpridas: o meu uniforme que você nao lavou. O jantar que eu nao te fiz.

A incerteza do amanhã.
Fica a saudade de como as coisas fluiam mais facilmente contigo do que com os outros. E isso tudo, com a duracao de um flash – uns segundos perdidos e compartilhados entre a minha vida e a sua.

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