Aura, Bicycles and others
A blue dress among God, (I want to fuck God) and all His glory
Like a catwalk at four in the afternoon on an impossible sunny day
Two years ago a virgin, she sings what a half dozen beers and ciders
Oblige her to, and someone photographs the water, as if life goes beyond
A window of a houseful of photographs, where no one lives anymore to remember,
So nothing. And the teenager almost irritates me, but the silence sometimes (if someone panics
And cries softly) allows her an image of dessert, when life seems to be at its end.
The sun runs on, but it isn’t more than clouds, or people. Still, they run on.
And they become fat hornets, with raucous laughter between their wings, the moment
They walk away waving an open hand—before a closed one, and a mouth busy with other notes.
Bikes pass in other directions, more gods. All my flesh is credent,
And every thought is a prayer dictated directly by fact.
Green eyes, old flags of rich babies turning the existing wind,
A slight pain like those who breathe, or feel the weight under their feet, the weight and
The impossibility of becoming eternal (and sometimes legs are crossed open and infinitely.)
The Museum of Contemporary Art waits for the Sun to get tired, or for the grey to come in climax
And bring visitors to the inert colors inside, trapped between four walls with a possible humidity,
The kind that molds, not the kind that gives headaches and drains life
Whilst you read for a resolution. All this harmony, the sound of pages leaved by fingers
Slightly perspired, in the shade of a tree that awakens, dogs walking owners,
Books providing inspiration for dreams of undeserved naps, the whole balance,
With a strand of hair blown away by the wind, damaged:
“Whenever you want, wherever you want it,”
Usually, I rather life force me… or maybe not.
09.05.2011
Turku
João Bosco Silva, translated from portuguese by Sónia Oliveira
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