quinta-feira, agosto 23, 2007


It’s 9AM. The alarm is punctual. It buzzes and ends my fuzzy dreams. I search for the snooze button. I reach it. I look for you on the bed. I cannot find your shoulder, your lips, the smell of your body. Reluctantly I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, while scanning my mind for your memories. I am lucky, there are plenty of them to fill up the space. The dirty ceiling of that cheap hotel is suddenly filled by the immensity of your blue eyes.

The alarm plays again. I repeat the movement of silencing it; now and then, few times. I resist leaving the bed. The half-sleep image of your eyes is by far a more pleasant sentiment. Eventually, the relentless alarm convinces me to move my body away from the bed. That linen, that mattress, that pillow, do not contain any of your fragrance, which helps me to get up.

I finish packing my small bag. I leave my camera outside. The millions of pixels containing your smile should suffice to comfort me until the next destination, until I can touch the real thing again.

In the back of my mind one question only: “When are you coming for dinner?”

Slow food, slow love, whatever time it takes… I feel like telling you a million words, if you could listen to tem, but I decide for one only: “Merci”.

Blue eyes

She was awaiting for me, sitting at the bar. The skirt was above the knees. The glasses framed the blue eyes. The short hair was harmoniously messed up. Two fingers were playing with her eyebrows. The lips produced a beautiful smile when she saw me. I was late, as usual. As I approached her, half kissing, half apologizing, she simply kissed back to me and smiled. I was not sure if she heard my apologies, but it obviously didn’t matter anymore. We took off the shoes, walked into the lounge and found a corner for us among the pillows and candles. A live band in the building across the street was courteous to play it loud, enough for our not so distant ears. The live tunes mixed well with the local lounge music, the talking around us and our half spoken words. The vibe was great. We had just come from a local restaurant. Before that, we traveled on the dirty streets of that poor city. Before that we chatted at lobby of the hotel that hosted our bodies. And further away from the present, there was emptiness; we hadn’t met each other yet.

The plans for the day, the next week, were as simple as our conversations, our desires. We decided to get away from the city, somehow, and go to the mountains. Few expectations and plans, simple simple, easy easy.

Left my cigarette in her hands, and kissed her again. The eyes were not open. My hands found their frame on her fingers, and my head over her shoulders. Closed my eyes.

De Brasília para Lhasa

Peço uma cerveja local, Lhasa Beer – beer from the top of the world, a uns 3.500 metros de altitude a frase faz sentido. Durante o dia o céu é azul, com poucas nuvens. À noite, o brilho das estrelas compete com o da lua. Ao redor, montanhas. Em algumas enxerga-se o cume coberto de neve que esnobam do sol de verão. O céu me faz lembrar de Brasília, igualmente belo e limpo. No nosso “vale”, porém, a única montanha é na estrada para Sobradinho, e apesar do frio de julho não consta que tenha nevado alguma vez no Posto Colorado.

Day or night?

The golden stars were shining, something to do with hydrogen being converted to helium, I recall. Their bright light was present in most of the space. The black light covered the rest of the darkness, untouched by the stars. Would it be day or night outside? I asked my realm.


The band finished playing. I took the chance and sat down. Cleaned the sweat and ordered a beer. My eyes scanned around me. Not far from my table I spotted her, two couples and her, alone. The waitress delivered her fancy cocktail. Our eyes crossed. I stared at her and she at me. I thought about approaching her. But the fear of rejection was still greater than the expectation of joy. I ordered a second beer, while searching for her eyes again. But the friends had her attention now. I decided to go to the bathroom. I guess it was the subtle hope that the alcohol would tilt the fear-pleasure scale. When I returned the table was empty, the check paid. She was gone without a name, without a trace. I finished my beer, dropped few bills from my wallet, and closed the door of the bar behind me, alone.


Fragmentos de espelho presos ao teto.

Fragmentos de meu corpo ali refletidos.

Penso em juntar as peças.

Tarefa difícil, falta sempre um pedaço.

Talvez se eu quebrasse um pouco os cantos.

Talvez se eu aparasse as arestas.

Deveria usar apenas tamanhos padrões.

Deveria acabar com estes pedaços feitos sobre medida.

Confundir-me na multidão, mais um . na multidão.

Contraditório encontro

Acontecia todos os anos, mais ou menos, quase sempre, ao redor da mesma data. Havia quem trouxesse presentes caros. Havia os que trouxessem bebidas, frias ou quentes, e ainda, por vezes, caipirinhas de carambola e rapadura. Havia quem trouxesse o que de comer, fruto de laborioso misturar de ervas, castanhas, azeite e suor. Havia ainda quem trouxesse sorriso, simples, sincero, amigo. Havia de todas as tribos ali presente, diferentes dialetos de uma mesma língua-mãe. Vinham de todas as partes, intenções contraditórias, por vezes; razões uníssonas, no entanto. Juntavam-se ali todos ali para vê-la e poder dizer: Feliz aniversário!

quarta-feira, agosto 08, 2007


Com muita humildade
Fiz estes sonetos de madeira
Dei-lhes o som desta opaca e pura susbtância (...)

Pablo Neruda
Cem Sonetos de Amor

Sabor Nordestino

Se me queres cajuí
Desejo ser doce e raro
Deixar no teu corpo o cheiro
Dos cajueiros nordestinos

Desejo ser cajuína
Saciar tua sede
Com os beijos sonoros
Dos passarinhos empapuçados

Desejo ser “pé de tonel”
Embriagar teus sentidos
Aquecer teu corpo
Com meu pequeno caju em flor

Lília Diniz
Poetisa maranhense