MY LAND OUR LANDA Poem by Adroaldo Barbosa Jr.MY LAND OUR LAND is the result of years of work. Written at different times, eventually leading nineteen years in reaching the outcome that now lies in your hands.What is born of this land? Nothing is born, Nothing grows In this desolate land.
I want to wake up the neighborhood To hear my screams at dawn But they do not hear anything, Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning. I play my music in the streets, All my poetry and clichés But they do not understand anything, No one understands what happens at dawn. I walk the streets looking windows, Dirty children in their rotten rags And I cry with those who are hungry, I do not know who cry or love… I embrace the poor in spirit And hear all your stories poor, These poor and pathetic poor souls It is my right meeting this cold morning. I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark And I hear a child crying… A repetitive and child crying wretched What is the worst of all choruses? I see people and their hurried footsteps Everywhere, everywhere… I'm afraid to follow my tracks And I hasten my steps through this city. I hear the sirens screaming in the streets Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded And the sound of twisted metal Creating a new contrast, another type of cry. I sing with you almost every night And sometimes I wonder: where are you He left so early and left me here... Now I’m alone! I’m alone! God, I try and cannot understand Reason to justify this life. I am a pawn in the game you do not see Every dawn until dawn. Something touched my whole being, Something I do not understand and do not try to understand, Something that comes up every day when I wake up And after me until nightfall. Something happens, Something moved, Something incomprehensible, A new friend? They say that being is almost live And living is the limit of what you can want. In fact, something happens that one wants to be here, However, not all this desire craves. Nothing is enough When no longer feels the aroma of flowers, When the color no longer thrill And they cannot be sold to look. Gave me such rare moments Feeding the future although at present, But waking I do in all my steps Get me the taste of things even in thought. In my noble and poor land I wander And I feed the memories of liars, Get drunk me with joy and gladness And insistent way in the land of lepers. In my humble vacant land, Time is proud, ignorant time. Hunger is rampant around me, The flesh is weak and soul idem. I ask as much as the worst of sinners, Wasting a time that no longer have, Not differentiate right from wrong, Share supper with my detractors. I do not feel the taste of wine, I do not recognize a smile, I do not remember the hugs, I'm finally alone! I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes, There is no any agreement on the price of the meat, Nor is the first or second. God, you who are owner of the ages, Give me the hours its final minute And cause the whole world to know That left miserable after all. Grant then that desire And finish time with this work, Free cities this unfortunate Who insists on knowing what nobody knows. When there is fever, it makes no difference, There are times the blood is poison. Red is the color of anger and sin: The poet knows when he is sentenced. If there is even poetry these avenues As equal in different cities, To be recognized For the sake of pursuing life. Burial in the deepest memory The giant concrete towers, The grotesque glass structures That mimics a new artery. A new artery, A new lifestyle, A new company And an early cardiac arrest. As the cars kissing the avenues Meeting the perfect companion That tells me in the ear: "_Accept me as the only one" Finally, fear runs through my veins And feeding a forgotten feeling, An absurd desire to see the next day And try another outlet. All the streets are congested. A whole shantytown has just been set on fire While some locals try to save What remains of an entirely bankrupt life? There is a twist Around this humble heart, A carnival, Almost a provocation. All veins are old and weak, There is melancholy at all. Even without poetry, Without free will, there is life at all. This city is just brick, Metal, sweat, concrete and glass, Cement stuck to feeling Often beautiful and often ugly. This city is sand, Concrete and feeling, Sorrows and joys, Poetry thrown to the wind. Some people learn early, some not - Live life day in and day out. Some dance to the song, Others are lost before the chorus. Some are always right, some not - Many are lost in illusion. While some running, others sleep And all seek some direction. Some dream rock bottom, Others dream of the river bottom. Some seek independence, Others are the exception. Some people win, There are people who are lost, Some people becomes the problem And others think is the solution. Digress weather What about the "types" that encounters in this life. I lose a second in this lost time And even with so little sense, how rare is the time! If you have no idea, nor do I know. Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too. Perhaps the addiction that affects equal Is something that arises only between abnormal? I addiction with its tapas And in each sip of his cup, Each exaggerated affection offered In exchange for a few bucks. I dirty me with your lies And assimilate water from your gutters, I learn new shortcuts in every way And erase the traces of my own steps. I chase you in every church and every home I swallow my irony, Visit each elderly And make friends with the hospice house. Far reaches thy wickedness And how many hugs another's grief? Can evil be so inspired? The point of the very surprised to be expected? Life bleeds leaving the left chest The children of the world that the world does not want, Spread the news that sadness has hair And more brown eyes than mine. I notice refinements of cruelty In this urban masochism Where poverty has older And the lie became just a vanity. I transform In all more abhor, I emerge in the mirror As my own killer. I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room Little souls endangered And throw in the trash the dreams of those who He believed devoutly one day be part of reality. I still feel the skin marked by fire The brand that hurts the brand of truth And I pray that one day cease searches And everything becomes futile. The happiness of fuel Corrode and fades away slowly Gradually me satisfaction With the balance that sustains me. When I look at my own face, it hurts. I exhale the body the rest of fear And I try not to see how strange the line of truth - Seeking the path that leads to freedom. Disguise my desires And repress my absurd, Hug each nightmare And hide my darker side. I try to see something beyond the abyss, Find something else beyond the walls, Transcribe all longings Hidden behind every dream. I am eternal, Sinister, Land and fraternal While the world lasts. There is this chest a divided heart Created almost between two worlds, The world is inside the abyss And what one sees behind the walls. My corner is stumped As well as the small voice and uncertain From the little that is hidden on the other side, My other side of that wall. What have other corners? They also have these sides But what counts in these corners Also rhyme in other valleys. Bright lights bother many people. Darkness feeds inconsequential. High walls with brass railings gleaming Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen? Urban flowers are so amazing And this depression is so exciting. Smiles are bitter and needy And the pain married to vows of love. These buildings are so interesting, Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds, Where transiting the fair and honest Munching vanity and rancor. The cars pass and illuminate so many people, Whites, blacks and children without color. Poets are so tucked the irreverent Assimilating the pain and all that is. I see lives that trace the same plane, joy of generations by mistake , Marks of time that are pure desperation Charting together a colorless future. I see faces full of hope Burning in public because of their color, Those who live without even realizing it, A cold paint drips without why. Bodies dancing high parapets Almost always go so early Challenging theories and concepts And ignoring all kinds of love. My steps are so slow And so intense movements, The faces are always the same And I hope again the sunset. Justice who is in charge of giving clemency The presumed innocent Transiting the streets Spreading hope and love. I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus And the annunciation in the middle of spring, I want to be like St. Augustine And read the scriptures by candlelight. I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers Even in December the ink is red. I want to have new flower garden in the backyard And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental. Just want something passionately Even being so blind and alone? That goodbye is worthy And everything to return finally to dust. The idea comes suddenly To celebrate as an illiterate, Prepare a table and invite Only those who are hungry. All this turmoil, All this protest, All thefts This legion inside me... Melancholy has always had its place, Love, sadness and bitter returns, Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd And embrace the darkness itself. Find it romantic suffer For pain that recognizes pain that always sees It is more than a disease, it is a love affair For all that hurts and causes pain. I let them think I was defeated With the unexpected attacks Of those who cry shouts of victory And they forgot to be buried. I leave them to play in my back The guilt of all blame, Let it burn my entire story, It does not matter that much. My lips run on search words And my eyes run in search of beauty, Drawing liar’s feelings That shut all the bells around. Words come out like blades In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth This other me who hates me so much And all challenges at first. In the spring mornings leaves dance Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day, Is this life? _It’s this they call life? I want to find the lost word Among the tasks of the day to day What is so profane? The prohibited! I want to meet a new season Bring me a sense of relief, Find what they call happiness And maybe learn what it is. An epidemic, Leukemia, Rimes illustrating An eternal melodrama. You cannot have everything! Not always beautiful are our days And we keep waking up. Roses do not speak, but are also alive. There is hunger for love! There is hunger and what will? There is hunger in this home? If there is hunger, then there. There is time for everything! There is time to smile, No time to cry, There is time to leave. I want to run away from home without a warning, Running between the wheat fields And let all afflicted Trying to understand what had happened. I want to cause confusion, The same kind that I bring in my heart. I want water all around With the storm inside me. I want to wake up the sleeping And those who never agreed, I want to find out who they are And spread about us. Lovers of this pain, Thirsty without knowing Where else to enjoy, Where else to call "home". I shift my gaze With all the hatred of this world Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds Who recognize me in a second? I want to break these chains, Scratching walls, Promote anarchy And imprison noon. I want rain penknives While tear my clothes, I cut my wrists And count all the drops. A day can be Something happens And make to cease this endless grief And everything changes, anyway. So lose the naivety What remains this morning? I envision the absurdity that all I see Is still something to be remembered? Maybe one day Poetry is done singing And the light breeze the corner Everywhere! I want to get a perfect world, I want to love what is defective, I want to explore my own room, Make another deal. I want to shake you violently that coffin And show where all the mice, Ignite old blankets Which now they were pretty. I want to show you I love you And I hate you, I can live alone, But also not live without you. My madness is productive At the same time, destructive: It satisfies the crowd inside. I refuse to be part of the pack Strolling in supermarkets, Feigning patience as immoderate The suffered. I like debris, I collect dust, Make enemies, Cultivation dreams. I constantly change identity And lose track of reality, My state is ill And I'm terminal and disposable. I participate in this game, This novel in decline This disgusting theater of horrors Where only the blind are honest. I am thoroughly enslaved While deprive me of the privilege of choice, Burying our will In the deepest pit. The wall that separates us is low And we walked jumping from one side to the other, Often both exist And others, only I exist. We are a nun and a w***e Plotting an eternal dispute Between the two sides of the coin To decide who runs and who fight. As simple as saying your name Spell out the pieces of your body. I want to understand what God's grace If your body will never be only yours. Your body exudes the morning sweat, Clouds hid the principle of pain, Pain discovers a new form of pleasure And the pleasure is expensive to you. Your blood runs nearly everywhere And a new world opens up suddenly, Frighten the fleeting pain And wait with his only love the sunrise. I wipe the sweat oozes from you, You wipe the tears falling from me, If you can be in the world some endless love The only certainty is that there was never before such love. I want to wake you up To hear my screams at dawn, Show you what genuine despondency is And not left me anymore. I want to recognize me And take me to your bed, Not left with nothing In addition to beating in his chest. I want to be part of its history And I want to be a constant presence in my, The world spit their prejudices And the fire that also burns in the heat. I want to break the mirrors And heal our sickness, Assaulting what kills us Every day, forever. Serene and calm give you what remains With my last breath, What's best in me now rests And rest my mind. My sweat is true It is also all the pain. Blood is final And it goes to the last vows of love. The entire storm inside me Now relax my heart, Soothes My Soul And feeds the reason. I walk by this peaceful land And growing a new crop of wheat, I do a incognita a new partner And the fear is not definitive. I harvest hope Where before there was only bitterness. I am ashamed And regret. I accept the entire cross And fight against the serpent. I heal my wounds. And my success is violent. Time is short And I want to scream that entire plan, There is still a flame inside And only her surrender. What was misery, What was despair, What was hungry, What was fear… What was pain, What was love, What it had value And when there was time…
What is born of this land? Nothing is born, Nothing grows In this desolate land.
What is born on this land? What grows in this land? Nothing is born on this land, My private wasteland.
© 2016 Adroaldo Barbosa Jr.Author's Note
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StatsAuthorAdroaldo Barbosa Jr.Foz do Iguaçu, Paraná, BrazilAboutComposer, teacher, poet and Brazilian writer, born in Telemaco Borba - PR, born on December 23, 1975, son of Adroaldo Barbosa and Maria Eloiza Barbosa. Formed in Letters Portuguese / Spanish by UNIOES.. more..Writing
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