Myths and epic poems

Perfect muse

By the voice of the muse that inspired me
To write poems about the world
That she made me invent, because she so ordered
It’s up to me, imperfect poet, to write
About your body and your lips
Who gently kiss my face.

Knowing that in the moonlight,
Your silhouette shines in splendor
Not looking brings me pain
And loving her brings me her flavor.

Sea mermaid, extended
Just for me, green eyes
A light that illuminates,
Golden and brown scented hair
A pure breeze in my ocean
In which I get lost but I’m happy.

I’m an apprentice
I learn the words with you
In your voice of pure harmony
For the rest, from the world I disconnect
I look at your shiny body in fantasy
For me it is pure joy.

Perfect chest
Hill of a beautiful city
Maybe Maria Lisboa your name
You embrace the sea with your arms.

Thin and flat belly
The beginning of your hips
A guitar that cries in the fate.
Legs and feet, I see the columns
Main ones you support
The weight of being the Muse of Portugal,
And bathe in the waters of the Tagus
Your true home.

Beggar

I was never a beggar
I didn’t even ask for alms
In point of view in detail
From the disturber of kills and skins,
In a lame and deaf way,
Society lacks the crutch of culture,
The real beggar who clears his head
To the webs of manipulation

I never asked for alms
I just stole lyrics from the library
To put them in order.
Though crude, they had order.
And wanted the muse, that order
As messed up as I am
I mess up myself
And I order and return to disorder.

And society won’t even arrive
To the glorious fullness of disorder
Of having a thousand thoughts
To order.

Society has an order
Just be sorted
With small wages
Disorganized in small numbers
And such big problems.

My book saved me today
From the bombardment of insults
My culture saved me
The life that is rightfully mine
My book saved my freedom
My book calmed down and embraced
My cry that wanted to scream
The lyrics scream my cry, now.
The words in this book are my voice now.
I am them and they are my being,
No matter what happens, hurt what it hurts.

My book got me where I am today
My book protected me
From the idiocy of the woman in front
Who talks through his elbows
That weaves skeins
And sews the jacket to the third parties.

My book saved my culture,
My language and memory
Of the lyrics that play with me
Like simple, mischievous children.
I remember my childhood
For the lyrics of my book
They saved my memory and happiness.

I had a heart

in a dark room
I feel that emptiness
of your absence
The loneliness it causes.

The tears
And the mute words
The silence of the walls
I want you to understand.

Back tomorrow
I have space in me
In my heart
To give and sell until the end.

Listen slowly to my plea
Like the slow cry
on blank nights
In a room stripped of you.

past love

I liked you
I who lived in you
And I smile
to silly details
of the pranks
that we had
I thought...
It was a love without barriers.

now i'm a sailor
From a stranded boat.
And I still breathe
The waves of your sea
I let myself sink.

Your breeze still plays
my crazy heart
And in pure madness
I'm the lost sailor
In the middle of the vast ocean
Of your absence.

come back and save me
mermaid and muse
come back and save me
Take me out of this bitterness.

Music

In trio, duo or solo,
We are harmony
We are children in arms,
That the cosmos packs,
With all your patience,
From a father who calms us down.
It's logic and science,
We are music, which awakens,
Who sleeps in the absence of sound.

find peace
that is born inside
The joy it brings
If we believe in touch
perfect of words
that fill our soul
of tune of melodies
That fill us with calm.

give me your hand

give me your hand
Come with me
give me your hand
I want to walk with you
In this life, I give you my heart
I'm in love
for life
I was the one who always loved you
sadness does not live here.

Princess give me your hand
walk with me
take good care of my heart
you are my shelter.

Silence

I touch the silence of you
In the empty objects of you
In an empty house of you
In a burning perfume echoes
On the dead walls of my being.
It was when I lost you
I realized that the promises of love vows
They left a pain and I empty of you.
Insisted, felt, fought, lost.

In the noisy flesh
The wounds are from war
A battle in silence
A fight in the deep darkness of your absence.

Pretend

Pretend we're joking
with the shadow of our hands
and draw the letters with chalk
as mischievous as your look.

Maybe tomorrow I want to kiss
Your pink lips, maybe.
Maybe I'll ask for a date tomorrow
or you steal my apple
that I wanted to share forever
with you smiling, I remember.

Pretending to count the years together
that our holding hands never fall apart
on the street we walked as we grew up
And that we speak shy feelings from the heart.

Stage

I'm different on stage
Grief hurts less
The voice has a warm tone
even in the moments
Dead from the range of notes
The joy of living and healing
What music brings in the laps
And in the dizzy turns of the dance
A song appears in a child's dreams.

I'm different on stage
I create magic without wanting
I create passion in burning fire
In the laps of the dance I lose myself
When looking at your incessant smile
I'm the child who plays barefoot
In the sands of passing time

Bring me the dream
Bring me the song
That you whistle and I sing
Bring to me love in the heart.
To be different on this stage.

voices

shrill voices,
Headaches,
You cry and scream through your teeth.
The unreal is wept, collapses
The world, the real weeps.

It hurts, even if I ask the universe,
That silences some of the voices,
That with atrocious speeds
They slowly kill the real concrete
Of my sad being without color.

Some of the voices that provoke
Pains, and not only me, crush,
Who wants to be free from frivolous society
That first sows panic, then the storm.

In this colorless world
Without the sun, the heat,
The grey and frowning ones remain.

Sunset cuttlefish and birds
Gone out of beauty,
Cold and frivolous humanity so prizes,
To petty ego and false innocence.
Behold of Man, his main delinquency.

unknown poet

Make me an unknown poet
In the price of your arrogant books
Because I know, certain conversations have bothered you
And I know you want to hate ignorant poets.

I would be ignorant if I fell into the industry
And wait for the temporary and the payment in a hurry.
Exchange help for no help, my anguish.
A smile and there's the expense done in a hurry.
And I had already heard the whole litany.

A poet knows how to pretend.
And who takes advantage of the work
Knows how to forge and is always on the run
And in the end, they know how to sell, the snake wins.

Yes, that's you there, the direct that gives you
Is very...
when the poet knows how to pretend better
People say that a poet wants to be myth and dead
That they were shamelessly unloved poor.
And you selling empty pages
Whose hypocrisy is there before unread pages?

Shadow

Shadow on my shoulder
When I find out
that I am the rubble
What do I choose to swallow
to cover up
past hurts
In stagnant waters.

what's left
And this is the work
from a contractor
Who prefers never to face
And destroy me completely.

My soul foundations
Barely hold the pillars of my body
The windows are broken and without calm
And you can hardly see the outside, not at all.

The walls of the mind wobble
And there are loopholes for the world
The roof of dreams, the rafters complain
The floor of my calm has a deep hole
That breaks every function in half
And in all this beats feelings and a heart.

the boxes of life

In boxes we were born,
We are the center of the universe.
We live in boxes
We learn what is most perverse.
We breathe the essence of human nature
And in that we think we create beauty
In front of the boxes that we are creating
Without understanding our place in the world.

We know the progress
In the boxes we created.
We learn that we are no longer
the centre of the universe
We are just a vehicle,
A box to keep
Something that sustains a soul.
The time, if we are to calculate
comes from a box
That counts the heartbeats
That this time stops, we also stop
And the cycle of life fits in the palm of one hand.

In boxes we die
In boxes we rot
In boxes again we are born.
In boxes we complete the cycle of life
Where there is only one way but never one coming.
Because time was created to never return
Just to take us and deliver
To the living wheel of our mortality
And we always fall into the same reality.