terça-feira, 7 de junho de 2016


The Sky is so huge,
And ours eyes, so little...
Why can our world just
Be like we believe?

There so many things...
But I just hold
What amuses me...
What queers me, I let go....

My clearest sky,
To others, is prison;
And their paradise,
To me, more than threaten...

And many clouds,
Fast, come around...
And rains out on
Our sweet houses....

If it can good or bad,
Depends on the drops feed
Our soil or they killed
Our groan by drown us.

How are you and your home?
The planting is (not) done?
Tomorrow, from skies these
We'll see if and how we''ll live.

(Leandro Monteiro)

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