Rien Mot

  No dice vos nada a nadie Guarda seguro lo que ahora sabe Ninguno tiene que saber lo que puede venir al  decir Si te quiero es porque ningún sabe Es nada Sentimiento esparcido en palabras Así, al saber,    no lo sabes Es necesario amar cuando amado De contrario si sabrán de todo que lo que dijo, sean quienes sean, soy yo que lo sé Yo todo lo siento Sabrás que jamás le dije nada de amor Ni dijo, por nada y por nadie, que te quiero Es que saber del amor de uno es como perdérselo

  Veio em casa um tal desconhecido a fazer-se de velho inimigo Tinha lá dois garruchões empedernidos de pólvora molhada Era bucha Parava à porta, esmola de mão esquerda a pedir obrigação Sei bem lá o que fazer Como ajudar Se me matava ou esperava a faísca secar Mandei entrar Demorou cabineiro Atalhou um talo grasnado de palavra Remendou um quieto no giral  Olhou de quarto Amassou lento os pés de pena Fiz abancar Perguntou das horas Arrumei a conversa Passei o café e lhe entreguei o ouro - pão preto Comeu pelas beiradas olhava-me no peito A pochete de couro sabe mirar? Não pude mentir, na infância meu irmão apostava, eu acertava na tabuleta; ele ganhava nunca errei um tiro Chateou-se de supetão macio Cacarejou com as galinhas Deu um esgar sem meio olhar Fez de riso E carpiu Vou dizer o quê? Má verdade assusta o covarde Tirei o peso da pochete de couro  Descansei o pesar. Enterrei no quintal o esquecimento.

  O vento veio de longe Derrubou sonhos Mudou pensamentos  Entortou as certezas Levou vidas Feriu muitos Trouxe medo Invisível em sua tormenta Passou enlouquecido pelo vazio dos campos Atravessou os planos Subiu os morros Correu pela água empossada Assobiou nos viadutos Arrebentou os canteiros Veio embora na chuva noite adentro Derrubou a luz Quebrou casas Virou carros Espantou os bichos do curral Revirou a terra socada E desapareceu Sem mais ser visto até vai ser guardado pelo passado Deitado ficou no esconderijo solesmático Ninguém veio pedir voto Era a mudança do clima O aviso das árvores perdidas Passa brisa alguém chora

  L’infini à doux mouvements des pieds et aime Je vous à la promenade. Éclate le bonheur encore plus travers quelque chose dense de bleu et blanc. Descendant du ciel le soleil fait comme ça de guide et sons radieux lumière traversant le jardin dans le fond de la maison Duplicité dans la même raisons, radieux. Deux jours que déborde tout le silence et bandes d’insectes et les oiseux volatiles et ailés. Le rapport de mon cœur avec cette dimension est qu’elle se glisse dans la pensée et transformé par les couleurs vibrantes de l’image double Tout s’efface de le jour. Deux jeunes dualistes sont chargés de la vie et de la morte et attaquent mon jour et brisent le pont de mon passage. Les deux formes sont barrées et menées pour le plaisir du doublement fermé du sens. Les virages avec le vent du sentiment outrancier modifient le    paix. Tout cesser et je garde l’inaccessible dans ma poche 

  He was a good comrade She was sweet My mother is still the only terrain where I never would sprout she was magnificent did not need a dry seed in your country when I came I brought the presence I left her world of soft love for a mess where anything does not up I live there that is here In this spot I wrote these words, did not with words but with what could be It was my father with whom I learned to be what could be. In his imagination I was the germination. He would believe that it was here where the world could be good I fold my senses with what felt by father He was worse does not exist a garden or gardener light from alive eyes a beautiful joy a little here art is forbidden sadness desolation interdiction My mother had reason about because I showed me to her They never could know I could be what could not be I planted myself a far this place I

I saw a rose on the pavement.  I got to the temple to hear the great lord of truth, and suddenly he slipped on words and glanced happily with his tongue like hands beating and screaming very loud throughout the people, making me back to the door. It was where suddenly it sound pushed down my bike, a prize from liberty, ongoing, I got way crossing marginal land of city tuning with noise voice breaking wall of my soul rather letting me far.  I see seeing passing people, parties from Sunday with locked grisly heaven. The wind I hear, it is calling by my name.  I took continuously the path known without any aim marking descending on my thinking, it does not want anything more true. I am    cycling among crowds in a surrealistic fair of craft things made by factories modeling and selling it,    until I arrives in an abandoned park of grove where great rats are adorations for upsetting groups that still climb the pole kissing a flag. It makes me found balanc...