Route To The Mind
(INAJÁ MARTINS DE ALMEIDA)
Yes? how many times I see the sadness of the afternoons? the emptiness and the solitude that the night keeps in its tomb. The more, if the wind blows, cold, tenebrous, barulhento, in its desperate howl. Sadder still, the wind becomes, increasing my sadness, when it comes licking the space, erasing tracks of dreams left for the ways. From there, what it could be perpetual dream, fulgáz becomes, passenger. In one instant, the course of a life takes another route. who gives! happy hours were perpetual? Who gives! bitter hours, fugazes, passengers? But, as nor always the wind backwards the cool breeze of the morning, the joy of the afternoon, the rest of the dawn, I continue my way; if sad, or alone, I go following, the route of the wind.
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