Wednesday, September 30, 2015

A little bird fell off a tree

Small, frail and cold, it shivered. I took it. In the shell of my hands I protected it.  I brought it home.  I sheltered it from the rain, from the cold, from the wind that brought it down. Its big eyes stared at me. "Am I dying?", "Is there hope?", they questioned. I poured tiny drops of water. They slipped from my fingertips. Its frail beak took them avidly. I fed it the best I could.

"Forget it! You can never save it!", friends would have said, had friends been given the chance. They were not! I was determined to make the bird survive. I could not take any more loss, I could not take any more death. I decided, omnipotently, it would not die, just like I once decided I would not die. 

It did not! It did not die! It survived! And I set it up on a tree when it seemed stronger. It showed no recollection of the rain, of the cold, of the wind. No gratitude in its eyes. It was not needed.  No fear of the vastness either.  The vastness had always been his birthright as a bird, I guess. 

Uncertain of its fate, unsure of its possibilities, I knew there was hope now. Perhaps it would fly high, perhaps it would go far. I had done what I could, I told myself as I turned around, as I walked away. I had done all I could for the little bird that fell from the tree.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

The Butt Obsession - Very brief reflection on the matter

In Brazil there is always someone checking someone else's butt. Those were her thoughts while she waited for the light to turn green and a black robust woman passed by a mullato middle aged guy at the corner. She observed them.  The man looked up for a second, watching an inexistent bird in the sky. As soon as she was two steps away from him he looked down to the left and checked her butt out. It was a discreet look, she thought. Some of them almost get their necks broken just to chek out some butt. "A national obsession!" She heard someone honking a horn, the light was green. "Man, if I put my butt on the window, they might even stop the nonsense!". "Run me over!", she screamed instead. She pressed the pedal and moved on.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Tons Sobre Tons

Nasci branca, consta na certidão
Branca da cor do papel, um branco que não existe
Cruzando a invisível linha que restringe o mundo da amplidão
Tornei me escura, não mais triste

Andando na fina linha
Em tons diversos, negros e marrons
Devolvem-me, todavia, essa branca carne, que não mais é minha
Paleta que sou de tons sobre tons

Diverte-me, hoje, a fluidez das minhas cores
Que me atravesssam o mundo inteiro
Enganando maus e bons

Alenta-me dispensar o conforto da palidez
Passado pernicioso do alheio sofrimento
Há mais por onde caminho, acolhendo a mistura, esparramando altivez

The oracle is dead

Find the key to the door
Lock it up
The oracle is dead
It never said yes
It never said no
It will say no word
No more!