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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.

I planted the dry seed

octubre 20, 2025

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

Vento entornado

noviembre 08, 2025

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

Con la tecnología de Blogger

PEDRO MOREIRA NT: I am someone who came from a place that never was. River water, calm lakes, waterfalls, edges where bushes and trees grow, the open field, the sky reflected in my hands in the trembling mirror of the river, the waits I am, this man lying in the river in the middle of autumn of my existence, loves his children, he likes to be alone, and he has a great company. I leave out the conceptual groups that put their finger on the face and follow fashion. I try not to be like that. In this boat, I am also the water where I sail. I take the sky with me, the fields, the flowers, and the fragrant herbs all my mornings. I am a being of the dawn. The scandal of nature in the voice of a bird, the incessant hum of the bells that insects make. I look like it, but I am not afraid of anything. I do not think I ever was. Indeed, my father, especially my mother, sweetly led me to read and write. I am always primary; I am still learning to read and write, row, and let the boat go safely. pmnt

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