All beauty must Die

All the eons of the universe have fall on you
not even the mirror, that old beloved enemy,
can bear the heaviness of the years for you.
as an assassin time has come over night,
you wake up only to face a stranger in the mirror.
As autum leafs,
all beauty has fallen away from you,
you are like a tree,
waiting for death to come

All substance...

Sometimes life is like politics
you have to change it, make a revolution, turn it upside down
and everything will continue the same.

Other times
mutation occurs in silence,
it grows in the dark... like a shadow plant.

Unaware of the process you carry on living
only dreams can warn you
(but it does't matter because you never remember your dreams)
and then one morning or maybe one night
in the middle of a conversation,
or with a cup of tea half way between the table and your lips,
you become aware of the little changes
in the DNA sequence of everyday life.

and the question drops inside your head with the weight of a hammer
Where all your substance resides?
is it the curly hair or the junky caffeine gene?
                               maybe    
maybe  all substance is about transmutation    about restlessness,
the unfolding of whatever life can bring and     you....
                           eye blinded
                  need to be prepared to embrace it

Out and about

Three weeks ago the movement started
it was a subtle earthquake.

in less than a week I bought my plane tickets

put some things in the suitcases

and crossed the ocean dragging behind me 40 kilograms,

and without saying good bye to many beloved people

(whose names I don't dare to mention)

I still don't have a permanent place

my belongings are still packed

no internet no phone no house

only the road ahead..

(Thanks to miss Carla Afonso for this beautiful song)

I want to cast a spell

I want to cast a spell
But not a love spell
I don't want to steal a lock of your hair
while singing impenetrable incantations
neither want to tie you to me by force or magic

I want to cast a spell
but not a money spell
I don't want to wither like an ancient alchemist
searching for the secret of transmutation

I want to cast a spell
a spell of freedom and protection,
A healing spell to frighten away this sadness,
to shut up once for all the screaming of my old scars,
a spell to burn down
this fleet of black ships lying under the sun
as a premonition,
a spell to embrace love and life
and happiness and beauty and all those undefinable concepts
which only can be described with words that are not yet invented
or are too old to be remembered

Look at me
I am casting a spell
there are not lit candles or burned incense
I am not summoning the elements or inviting in the four directions.
I can recognize my voice
sweet and deep at the same time
here is me, simply,
shivering as a broken bird
face to face with my nude self

Levitation

That small moment
not even a second...
impossible to measure  under rational terms,
that small moment when everything froze
and you lose the sense of time and space,
that second of a second
when you can hear the sound of the things falling down

Are you going to be fast enough to catch them?,
do you have the skills to prevent  them smashing into pieces?
or are you going to stay there,
immobile,
looking at the parable taking shape while they fall,
waiting for the crash,
amassed by the multiple little fragments flying out of your sight,
now missed for ever under the furniture.

That second of a second

between the jump and the landing,

when you wish to have the gift of levitation

because after a few seconds in the air

you can hear the sound of your life and your body and your hopes falling down.

Are you going to land on your feet?

Are you going to lose one of your seven lives? (you have already lost so many)

or are you going to smash into little pieces like a wine glass?

This second of a second

it has lasted centuries or a blink?

Am I levitating or falling down?

I can hear the sound of my life and my body and my hopes falling down

sorting out

B-day cards,postcards, old photographs,

books yellowed by the past of the time,

CDs, vinyl records, cassettes from my youth,

museum maps, notebooks and diaries,

brushes, watercolors,

beloved jackets,

holed shoes,

a couple of reminders of old scars

all them piled out...

laying on the floor

hanging out of the drawers

spreaded as tarot cards telling me my fortune

whispering... 

and I am here trying to sort them out

I know I can't carry them with me

but then I realise that they are already part of what I am

'Postcards and letters
T-shirts and sweaters 
Passports and Parkas 
Mobiles and chargers 
Two tennis rackets 
Blue Rizla packets 
A new sheep-skin jacket 
I lost it all 

All through my life there have been 
Many rare and precious things 
I have tried to call mine 
But I just cannot seem
To keep hold of anything 
For more than a short time 
Possessions of a sentimental kind 
They were mine, now they're not 

Gym-kits and trainers 
Asthma inhalers 
Silk-cuts and Bennies 
Ten-packs and twenties 
C-class narcotics 
Antibiotics 
The holes in my pockets
I lost it all 

All that I'd like is to know
Just where do those lost things go? 
When they slip from my hands 
Then one night in a dream 
I passed through a sheepskin screen 
To a green, pleasant land 
I found them all piled up into the sky 
And I cried tears of joy'

Waiting room

Living in a waiting room

nothing lasts more than a few seconds

being in transit is the only constant

people, loves, fears, come and go

some times I wish them to stay a little longer but that isn't possible

waiting rooms also have rules

there are not farewells, there are not welcoming parties

there is only ambiguity

this vacuum full of juxtaposed forces and feelings

Now that the time of departure is almost here ...  again

I am afraid of leaving

my bare feet are hanging upon the floor

unsure of the path to follow

I am leaving or I am going back?

Pessoa's verses are in my head

speaking to me

hunting me

warning me???

Partir!
Nunca Voltarei
nunca voltarei porque nunca se volta.
O Lugar a que se volta é sempre outro,
A gare a que se volta é outra.
Já nao está a mesma gente, nem a mesma luz, nem a mesma filosofia.
Partir! Meu Deus, partir! Tenho medo de partir!... 

Fernando Pessoa