Treasure Island

Carlos Aragao

(10-17-1959 / Brazil)

Perda


Os frutos secam ao chão,
Evaporando vida, sabor e odores,
Num desperdicio sem razão…

Um céu imparcial,
Apenas conta o tempo,
Uma chuva casual,
Lava uma alma de seu tormento.

Pessoas caminham ao redor,
Cada uma a seu passo mais que lento,
Sem perceber,
O milagre daquele momento.

Um fruto ao chão,
Essência de toda uma paixão,
Uma alma sedenta de chuva,
E a certeza da solidão.

Uma alma sedenta de vida,
Um fruto para sempre perdido,
Um verso solto no tempo,
E a incerteza do nunca vivido.

Submitted: Wednesday, January 16, 2013

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