Inverno carioca

O Rio, visto de cima, é só beleza. Cada curva, de cada montanha, tem uma poesia própria. O mar, banhado de sol ou não, tem uma cadência peculiar, um ritmo suave, que combina com a areia branca e o céu azul, mesmo sob o tímido sol de inverno. Aliás, inverno no Rio de Janeiro dura três semanas...
O contorno do litoral, bem delineado, a vista possível quando se voa de ponte-aérea, me lembra contornos femininos, definindo bem o feminino da cidade. O Rio de Janeiro é uma mulher.
O Rio é mesmo mais bonito no outono-inverno, menos agressivo, menos suado, mais suave, mais agradável.
Vim porque preciso, mas estou pronta para voltar agora mesmo. Vamos logo com isso.

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Finishing

All of a sudden
The touch wasn’t warm anymore;
The hug wasn’t close;
Holding hands weren’t tight.

All of a sudden,
The eyes didn’t shine;
The body didn’t tremble;
Smiling wasn’t natural.

If this is the end,
I must say, it is pretty sad.

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BY THE WINDOW IN BOTAFOGO

The Sugar Loaf was much bigger
Than my memory had registered.
Shiny by the rain
Running down the black stone.

On the bay, hundreds of masts
And white sails moving back and forth
Seemed talking
The mysterious language of the sea.

I was talking to my long time dear friend
About trivialities of life:
Dreams deferred that didn’t explode,
Broken hearts, successes failed.

I impatiently moved my hands
And my fingers found my wedding ring,
Under the table, out of sight.
For a moment, secretly,
(And peacefully) I loved you intensely
In a far away land.

What If

What if I could fly,
Go away, far,
And return amazed,
Slowly soaring over mountains and country plains,
After seeing another point-of-view?

What if I could change
In a glimpse, into a fast animal,
Or a cuddling bear,
Then after soothing,
Or attacking,
I would serenely sleep
Immersed in my own raw nature?

What if I could think better,
Speak better words;
Promote change;
Or reconciliation;
Or peace;
Through the power of my discourse?

What If I could?

And after that,
What else?

Self-Locking

He wanted to speak
But the voice was locked inside;
He wanted to write,
But the pen refused to give form to his thoughts;
He wanted to breathe fresh air, inspiration,
But the wind was too strong to take in;
He wanted to fly high, far,
But the ancient anchor he once attached to his legs,
Is weighting down now.
He wanted to fly,
But buried his legs too deep in the ground.
And his mobility has been affected ever since.

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Estranho Sentimento

De tudo, o que dói mais é a sensação de ter falhado, de não ter uma vida em meu próprio país. Ter de voltar para casa em outras terras é atestado de minha incompetência passada. O que dói mesmo é "ter de". Queria ficar, queria respirar aqueles ares tropicais que não me machucam o nariz, sentir o spray das ondas no corpo quente de sol, o spray para refrescar a caminhada no Posto 9, ver a cidade linda no sol de verão. E de outono, inverno e primavera também.

Ter de voltar para o frio, o seco, essas pessoas frias e secas, em sua maioria, significa que não fui capaz em meu próprio país. Meu coração parece uva-passa...

Mas, se eu sento e penso com mais calma, me pergunto: ou será que foi o país que não me foi generoso? Ou era incompetente demais quando eu precisei dele?

A refletir...

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Beyond the tempest

The sun, high, high,
hot, hot,
the sky blue, blue
And there we were
planing futures beyond us
bright futures
attractive possibilities
under the current dark clouds.

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Lights on the Hill

Little lights scattered on the hill,
Pulsing slightly in the distance
Little diamonds in green velvet
Shining on the cadence of electric waves
A simple switch can kill.

Dog Life

In my next life I want to be a dog.
In Marin County.
No work, no degree,
Food, house, care, love!
And I will still be able to love too,
The pure love of the dogs.
No social rules, no restrains.
I will follow my interests,
And sometimes be scorned;
But I’ve been scorned as a human anyway…
As a dog, no fashion clothes to wear,
No languages to speak…
The tail will show my feelings
And that will be enough:
no Valentine’s Day gifts needed!
Teeth won’t have braces,
No nails to manicure or pedicure.
No mascara, no lipstick
No liposuction! No flab!
I will run in manicured backyards,
Jump in sparkling blue pools,
And have health insurance paid!
Sleep in soft brand name beds,
With a sparky Coach collar on my neck.
In my next life I want to be a dog.
In Marin County.
And barking, smile to my owner,
Ready to do each day all over again.

Oil Paint

Inexplicable pleasure
From the smell of wet oil paint.
Turpentine, pigments,
This is scent of art.
A sense of accomplishment
Follows the beauty.
The brush strokes spreading the colors
Of all colors,
Trespassing the expression of beauty
Reserved only to Gods.
And artists.

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