domingo, 4 de março de 2012

brincadeiras de criança?

com nossos vinte e poucos anos,
achamos que já somos adultos

mas ainda brincamos de
polícia e ladrão
e peteca

falamos e não dizemos nada
ou optamos pelos códigos

todos secretos,
sem legenda
justamente para que ninguém entenda

fechamos os olhos para que
se escondam de nós
contamos até vinte para
irmos atrás

tampamos os ouvidos
vendamos os olhos
e a boca

nos declaramos debaixo d'água
na piscina do prédio
sabendo que o outro não vai entender,
mas torcendo para que entenda

soltamos o riso
e quando alguém vem atrás de nós
logo corremos
e nos escondemos
dentro de nós mesmos..

ah, o esconde-esconde!
quanta nostalgia!

crescendo com essas brincadeiras todas,
como poderíamos agir diferente também?!

e agora,
topa uma amarelinha?!

3 comentários:

  1. Finally the third poem :-)
    This is different from the other two, in that it is a poem, not something adpated from letters. However, it also strikes me as marking a new stage in your poetry (and maybe your life, though I am not sure about that). Most of the poems over the last few months have been about a relationship, often being written for a speicifc person. With the two other new poems you seem to have brought this to a close - poetically at least. Now you are starting a new cycle, talking about through the lens of childhood - all the games people play, but you seem to regard them as innocent.
    As usual, I like the poem. It is sweet (not a word I use often), but that is what strikes me, maybe because of the topic. It is also questionning, and I like that!!
    By the way, eu topo uma amarelinha :-)
    Hope to read more soon...

  2. I came accross this poem just now. It seems very appropriate :-)

    In My Craft or Sullen Art

    By Dylan Thomas

    In my craft or sullen art
    Exercised in the still night
    When only the moon rages
    And the lovers lie abed
    With all their griefs in their arms,
    I labour by singing light
    Not for ambition or bread
    Or the strut and trade of charms
    On the ivory stages
    But for the common wages
    Of their most secret heart.

    Not for the proud man apart
    From the raging moon I write
    On these spindrift pages
    Nor for the towering dead
    With their nightingales and psalms
    But for the lovers, their arms
    Round the griefs of the ages,
    Who pay no praise or wages
    Nor heed my craft or art.

  3. Minha amiga,
    Once again I am re-reading your poems looking for inspiration (and in a way solace.. did you ever have one of those days when most things have gone ok, but some little things somehow cut you and blacken your day.. not make you sad, just in a strange mood, lonely, or something like that? Or is it just me.. ha hahaha). Anyway, I am pasting in below an article I came across by a poet which I loved. I hope you will too. I hope it will inspire you too! Reading it, I thought you should read it, but it made me wonder whether I should put it here or on your fb. I always put poetry related stuff here, when sometimes it would be better on FB, I have to ask you about this.. remind me!! :-)
    Hopefully I wil read something new here soon.. :-)
    PS.. please torce for me a LOT. I have just sent (again) the introduction for my book... torce that this time it will be liked - and in the next few days I will be submitting a few articles in Portuguese and English. My stuff is different and I have taken a battering over the last year or so, so please torce that this time, it will get better receptions.... :-)
    PPS As usual I found the inspiration and the solace... :-)
    The link is: