Imprisoned by the evil clutches of Kaliban!
Desperation became consolation:
A shard of tile for a leak and nothing more,
A closed room and all necessary things,
A huge space without air, suffocating every day...
But the light and freedom did not knock on her door.
They are not things found in packages,
Much less into purchased works of art...
She remains pasting pictures on the wall, full of mold,
Putting the last strength on paper.
The hope is only a sliver of tile,
And a hole that leads back to the conception of world...
The closing of eyes hurts her
And produces nightmares and muffled cries ...
Must returns to the rhymes,
Needs to loosen up from those evil clutches,
Where she is only a prisoner,
Clueless and no good stories to tell,
And the memory still brings to imagination,
Someone is waiting for her, another place:
- It's not love, it is humanity!
(Joyce Martins)
