His name is still screamed
in nights of true loneliness.
And the echo is enough
to convince me.

If there was some change,
please keep it safe
like any happening.

The dawn is still admirable
even after its absence.
And at night I miss the whispers:
about her, about me and about us.

If there is a feeling,
please show it to me
and then I'll be more hopeful.

To Drummond*

And now, Carlos?
I had friends, I had family,
I had peace and love.
I just didn't have time
to remember all.

And now, Carlos?
I was son, I was grandson,
I was husband and father.
I just wasn't boy,
boy to live unhappy.

And now, Carlos?
I learnt to speak, I learnt to rhyme,
I learnt to grow up and see the world change.
I just didn't learn to live
as everybody expected to see.

And now, Carlos?
I was born in Bahia, I was born in Brazil,
I was born in America and in the world.
I just wasn't born in the universe
(and this has no meaning).

And now, Carlos?
I'm old, I'm grizzled,
I'm useless and I'm a poet.
I'm just not a child,
because I disobeyed the heart.

I carry with me
secrets which
I've never spread.

I carry with me
hearts which
I've never owned.

I carry with me
passions for which
I've never fought.

I carry with me
friendships of which
I've never felt pride.

I carry with me
truths which
I've never doubt.

I carry with me
feelings for which
I've never waited.

I carry with me
thieves about which
I've never talked.

I

I don't write poetry,
I just cut phrases in half
and I make them my verses,
confessions and feelings.

I don't create rhymes,
I just join beautiful sounds
and I make them my songs,
hymns and serenades.

II*

I'm not a poet,
I'm poetic.
And when I find my soul,
I will be able to die alone.

I'm not a poet,
I'm an engineer of words.
And when I find my poetic soul,
I will be able to rest in peace.

Open the windows of your house
through which the wind would never enter.
And then you'll feel on fire
more than in your own home.

Aspirate the smell of the infinity:
pale sky and blinding lights.
Nothing is so restricted,
except your great lovers.

Paint in red to be able to love me.
Paint in yellow to be able to cheer me.
But don't paint in blue. Blue makes me unhappy,
because it's not lovely (like a learner).

Turn on the fire
able to burn this fiction.
Now happiness, now satisfaction;
everything by which I relief.

Turn off the esteem
unable to have you.
And I'm glad to know
that I still know you.