domingo, 13 de março de 2011
"Youngsters without any utopia,
walking tense by the old houses' street
without any light.
Without any Fernando Pessoa's light
Closed on the sexual screens of impotence
Touch themselves contemplating decomposing bodies
Death of my faith, where were the hummingbird and the rainbow
In the birth time of these creatures
How many flowers' drops left to the sky corridors of your mouths
How many nights call your names
Me entering on the virtuous age, they becoming in no age.
The dumb death's sons, smell the white anemia's dust
Forgot the someday touched the transgression poetry
In the womb of your forgotten mothers
Forgot to stick her ears on the ground, to hear the tender beats of the butterflies' heart.
The dumb death's sons, never raised a leaf to meet the bug's labor.
Never raise goblets to the moon, to cheer to the vigorous moon
The dumb death's sons, ignore or never heard about lighting
Only open her mouths to throw up"
(EDU PLANCHÊZ- "planchêz éluard")