I walk around 

rarely so carefree

observing by places

some amazing sightings to see

Some, filled with so much history,

remarkable past and cultural indetities,

But none of which could possibly belong to me,

and never I, to it.

A sea of faces,

each hiding a story and

a bravery we not always get to meet.

And some of us worry

That with each face 

comes a chance of disappointment;

an ache started from ourselves,

a reflection on others with us involved. 

But with each face also comes

a surprising potentiality

of spectacular future past memories.

How far must I swim

Before, while walking, I can feel the grass under my feet?

The freshness of the breeze,

the melody of the wind?

arco-íris de fundo de garrafa

"Catar os cacos,

essas pecinhas tão frágeis e valiosas,

cada uma um selo de incontáveis memórias,

outrora partes do nosso eu tão arcaico,

mas agora uma singela oportunidade 

para montarmos o nosso mais lindo mosaico." 

Thrill of Nothingness - Part II

The answer:-

Only memories

still at the endlessness my mind;

Like a pirate's treasure,

gold, shattered glasses and dust,

together in a locked box,

burried in the depths of the sea.

Nevertheless, that offers the opportunity

of a brand new page,

A clean slate;

The chance to become whoever I chose to be.

Thrill of Nothingness

When did I lose myself?

Would it have been long ago,

when I cave in to an evil emptiness

mistakenly darker than my own?

Or shortly after,

sealing a promising deal 

no better than throwing pearls to swines?

Maybe following short,

when I was taking for an identity of my own

that of anyone who allowed my raw fingers

to tight a loose grip on them?

Perhaps soon later, when

stripped of my own will power,

obliviously stuck in a exitless room,

I saw a gleam of hope,

an opportunity to breathe. 

And what had been a joke

Became a ghostly commitment,

There only for I to see,

with poisoned chains

under flowers picked 

by no one other than me.

Whatever it may be,

I wonder now,

What is possibly left of me?

Drumsticks of a (once) Sunny Day

Why missing you is a crime I'm silently commiting... 

and committing it alone?

Like memories that are nothing but nice clouds in the sky,

dissolving into a rain
that doesn't refresh the ground
but only stains it with blood and tears.

A hope for days of a future long past;
Illusion of fortunate laughs,

and sunny beats...

A hug from the universe

and a bass of all the
highbars under our feet.

The everything once ours,

but which is now just

wishful hopes, long lasting dreams;
Reality tossing memories,

like shards of 

broken drumsticks

in a bottomless, sour bitter sea. 

(mis)Impressions

I'm feeling something
but I don't know what it is.
I'd normally guess it's hunger
but I just had something to eat.

It's also not anxiety,
for that's always with me;
and this started last night
when my heart in a different rhythm started to beat.

It got me smiling
and daydreaming for a bit...

But then I remembered reality,
where all of this truly started,
and at once I was reminded,
that perhaps I was misreading
an unusual pleasantry
for a wishful dream;
as if taking for my missing half
someone who could just be
another version of me.

Depression: selflost, goal-less.

I look at the things I've done
I play a recording of songs I sung
I read all the words I've written
All the pictures I've taken
All drawings I've made
And all the memories I've collected...

With a feeling of dettachment
as if none of it belonged to me anymore

I gulp for air as I work the courage to stare at the mirror
And as if just to feed my numb soul
I see a girl that I can't recognize as myself.

One beating after the other
One more piece of our identity taken away
One more part of our integrity forcefully overrided
One more dream erased
Until that girl could no longer fight.

And if my true self has lost the fight
if that girl is long gone
What is left of me?
What is left to keep fighting for?

Depression: unworthy, unfit

I look in the mirror and I see
I see a pair of green eyes still strong with
a passion for what's fair and what's right
A pair of eyes daydreaming of things simple and pure, black and white

And that's when I realize that
It's as if I'm unfit
Unfit to live in society
Unfit to care for another being
Unfit to have a healthy relationship
Unfit for a long lasting, career progress job

Back in the mirror I see a fair skin  against a honey blond hair
A good looking appearence despite all the attempts
To be a dischevelled and careless type

And then I realize, once again
How unfit I am
to show my face outside
to meet someone new
to try out for new roles
to dare a take what could or should be mine

One last time I gaze in that mirror
and I see a tall girl with curvy lines
a pretty face on a young expression
nothing but a confused and gypsy soul reflection

And that's when I realize that despite all my inteligence and efforts,
I still am seen as unfit
Unfit for being taken seriously
Unfit for being respected back
Unfit for being cared about
Unfit for having a decent future
Unfit for receiving my well earned prizes.

And then I feel lost
I feel dazed
I feel confused
I feel abandoned

Hopeless,
As if even my own reflection at that mirror had too decided I am unfit and unworthy,
and then deserted me, leaving me to my own demises.

Caged Bird

Caged Bird
By Maya Angelou

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind  
and floats downstream  
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and  
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams  
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream  
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied  
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings  
with a fearful trill  
of things unknown  
but longed for still  
and his tune is heard  
on the distant hill  
for the caged bird  
sings of freedom.