sexta-feira, 21 de abril de 2017


The years of my youth, my sensual life –
How clearly I see their meaning now.

What needless repentances, how futile…

But I did not understand the meaning then.

In the dissolute life of my youth
The desires of my poetry were being formed,
The scope of my art was being plotted.

This is why my repentances were never stable.
And my resolutions to control myself, to change
Lasted for two weeks at the most. 

(Constantine Cavafy)

Alexandria Photograph via The New York Public Library Digital Gallery

sábado, 1 de abril de 2017

Oh yes that little bee
would dive into my very sweet caipirinha
home made sugar cane liquor and all
– as much as others in little expresso cups –
with the same insistence
the exact same resilience and fate
always again 
and again
regardless of its contents
or of the failure carved in each attempt

In every single one of these
whilst I watched the coming back and forth waves
in anything slightly smelling like love
effortlessly shining like gold
even in every gray variation
which could not really be perceived
as either sea or sky
I would dive as well

I would have to however say
that at one sip
amidst changing growing tall waves
and children running
and grownups being brave and charming amidst the snow
– I mean the sand –
that I found it dead
very dead

in my only sweet treat
my very own forgotten dreams