SHEETS ON DESK

 

“I celebrate myself…”
Walt Whitman


Over the oak table,
By written papers,
I celebrate myself!
And I cheer with purple drink!
And I feel my hands swings
And my feet levitate….
Unlike America who drop away!
Yet, I refused to forsake them!

As they belong me, and I belong to them!
All blood fevering, blowing away, poisoning…
They are within me…
All the bullets threw, taken here and overseas.

They are me in me: in the Pacific Ocean, in the Indic Ocean, in the Atlantic Ocean, in the Arabian Ocean,
In the Japan Sea, in the China Sea….
Each atom (by Navies, Airplanes, Submarines members) through the water and air that moves I feel
Atoms that are in the cleaning papers too…
These, well printed on screens….
They cannot be seen,
But I do know and make them reality!

I celebrate myself,
And I appreciate a red wine!
But not from my lands!
I cheer me my victories almost with Asian’s, Africa’s, Americas’ and Europeans’ holy vins!
Sometimes, I do with a vodka shot!
It`s so much drink that,
Sometimes, I make noise
And, many times, I mistake myself
With someone I unknown,
Always blustering him who I hate…

But, when all the day passes,
My green sheets, my rainbow sheets
Are being sent to the Amazon grass…

And everything turns back how it is:
I’m celebrating myself
The contracts the others own me,
And forever my arms are staying to them….

World, do you stay with me!

(Leandro Monteiro)