junho 10, 2014

FRAGMENTS

The lines are crooked,
The colors are dead,
And the world screams intense daydreams,
Sounds that disturb my mind
(I'd rather be deaf not to be able to hear them)

The lines are crooked,
The colors are dead,
Bonding is wounded
And the scars are burned ...
Chokes, moans, spreading blood
And it has nothing to fear
Nothing else to suffer

The lines are crooked,
The colors are dead,
And we do not care for labels,
Senses, fears or ingratitude!
Just a gesture, only one reason
Which my lips pronounces,
What my ears want to hear
And what the mind wants to think:
- All the letters of your name,
that will pulsate forever
in my existence.

(Joyce Martins)