Augusto dos Anjos
Like a ghost taking refuge
In the solitude of still life,
Behind the wasteland tombs, one day,
I went to take refuge at your door!
It was cold and the cold
This is not what meat comforts us …
It cut just like in butchery
The steel of incisive knives cuts!
But you did not come to see my Doom!
And I left, like someone who repels everything,
- Old coffin loading debris –
Carrying only in the carcass tumbal
The unique parchment of the skin
And the fateful rattle of the bones!