the third act ....

That events found me disarmed and stilly occupied my thoughts. The drama gained air of opera, still dramatic but rhyming in the progress of written words and gestures. The recent rumors of the judment of the prisoner turned in sure - death. No drama in the cell, the join of living every minute was untouchble.
(...)
At this land we are used with farewells.
Sons and simbilings, mothers,
are temporary memories
of short lifes.
Here the time goes round,
as the brumes in the air,
the stars in movement,
the faces of the moon.
With the short horizon of things,
all is ephemerous.
The revolution rises on the wish
of changing the temporary circunstances of all things.

Nessa terra nos estamos acostumados com despedidas.
Filhos e irmaos, maes,
sao todos memorias temporarias
de vidas curtas.
Aqui o tempo passa ligeiro,
como as brumas no ar,
as estrelas em movimento,
as faces da lua.
Com o curto horizonte das coisas,
tudo e efemero.
A revolucao surge do desejo
de mudanca das circunstancias temporarias de todas as coisas.

(...)
Hard but so sensible,
the brutality living with the sensibility.
the hands that dig and push and hold
and fondle.

(...)

That history was about the limits of men. The dismail and overcome, courage, tranformation, remorse, prejudice and guilty. In the end it was all like a dream blended in hallucinations and infinity of doubts.



Days with
Spring 2009