It was only a distant force,
Incompatible to her reality,
More absent on rainy days,
And more present on efforts,
Emanating to the exchange of ideas,
Favouring their self-esteem,
Sow their ego and fueling new knowledge.
No touch, no smile,
Frozen reciprocity!
And she still burning intensely.
Even so,
A longing that corrodes her corrupted spirit,
A longing of someone that never had
- She never been possessed!
Something that sucks up her entrails,
- Starving and thirsty for her Philosophy,
Art and smashing for new sources,
Scrawled by her intellect and inner strength,
and by art that contemplates and never quiets,
Notorious and never learns,
But that aims to land
And back to the actual colors from reality,
Without provoked hallucinations and opened
- She is still walking, burning, burning!
To new search of coherent beings and open hands
that intertwine real discoveries.
(Joyce Martins)
