The door of truth was open,
but only let pass
half of a person each time.
Thus, it was impossible to reach the whole truth,
for the half of a person who passed by
brought only the profile of half truth
and their own second half.
Carrying half profiles when leaving,
and the half profiles, did not match the truth.
They broke the door.
They knocked down the door.
Arrived at the bright place
where the truth sparkled its fires.
It was divided in halves,
two different parts.
There was a question, which one
was the prettiest.
None of the two was really beautiful
and it was necessary to choose.
And choices were made according their whims,
Comments about this poem (Truth by Carlos Drummond de Andrade )
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