A screaming black presence
on my shelf
with bloody little red eyes
squinting at me
is a reminder and a control
on my life and my time on earth
killing my dreams
and pulling me back
into this chaotic reality.
written 3.2o.o5
for my alarm clock: -)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oh gosh, I'm reading your works and while I'm reading I can imagine the scenes ocurring, it's like when I'm reading Carlos Drummond de Andrade (by the way, this poem reminds me of his work) . I was imagining a 'monster' or something like that appearing to you when you open your shelf, but when I read 'for my alarm clock', I just laughed and understood what is that about. 'and pulling me back / into this chaotic reality.' Sometimes it's sound can be music in our ears, but mostly, remember us the must of the day: p I'll write a piece that it remembered me, 'Podem reclamar, podem arrombar a porta. Não me entrego ao dia e seu dever.' (Carlos Drummond de Andrade - Banho de Bacia) [Translating...] You can complain, you can bring the door down. I don't submit me to the day and it's must. Kisses :)