Poetry and Dream


Nahara Julyana Lima dos Santos


I sit down one more time
In my lonely chair.
Such a repeated rite,
Such a common habit.
My eyes fall here on these pale leaves,
And they cry out my whining in song.
I could never tell you no.
So these invisible tears
Pour on white faces
In the form of poetry.
My most intimate dreams
The person I am
Behind myself
They reveal themselves in my irreversible words.
And one more time
Exhausted
Empty
Of senses and feelings.

My dreams described there
Stop being in me,
They just become more beautiful words
In a growing collection of non-achievements.
My body falls apart
Of the desires that electrify him
And there’s no more pain to feel
When they just leave
To live forever unreal.
I like to say that I don’t write for inspiration
It’s the sweating of my feelings
That turns into words.

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