I missed the trolley and the hope.
Pale, I go back home.
The street is useless and no car
would drive over my body.
I will climb the slow steep slope
where paths are blended
All of them lead to
the beginning of drama and flora.
I do not know if I am suffering
or if is someone having fun
(and why not?) in the scarce night
with an insoluble piccolo.
And we, long time ago
shouted yes! to eternity.
Poet Other Poems
- An Ox Looks At Man
- Apparition Of Love
- Beach - Palm - Peace
- Boy Crying In The Night
- Don't Kill Yourself
- Flesh That Is Shamed
- For Always -- English translation of P...
- In Front Of The Photos Of Evandro Teixei...
- In The Middle Of The Road
- Inconfesso Desejo -- with English tran...
- Letter To Stalingrad
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.