MY LAND OUR LAND

MY LAND OUR LAND is the result of years of work. Written at different times, eventually leading nineteen years in reaching the outcome that now lies in your hands.

What is born of this land?

Nothing is born,

Nothing grows

In this desolate land.

 

I want to wake up the neighborhood

To hear my screams at dawn

But they do not hear anything,

Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning.

I play my music in the streets,

All my poetry and clichés

But they do not understand anything,

No one understands what happens at dawn.

I walk the streets looking windows,

Dirty children in their rotten rags

And I cry with those who are hungry,

I do not know who cry or love…

I embrace the poor in spirit

And hear all your stories poor,

These poor and pathetic poor souls

It is my right meeting this cold morning.

I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark

And I hear a child crying…

A repetitive and child crying wretched

What is the worst of all choruses?

I see people and their hurried footsteps

Everywhere, everywhere…

I'm afraid to follow my tracks

And I hasten my steps through this city.

I hear the sirens screaming in the streets

Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded

And the sound of twisted metal

Creating a new contrast, another type of cry.

I sing with you almost every night

And sometimes I wonder: where are you

He left so early and left me here...

Now I’m alone! I’m alone!

God, I try and cannot understand

Reason to justify this life.

I am a pawn in the game you do not see

Every dawn until dawn.

Something touched my whole being,

Something I do not understand and do not try to understand,

Something that comes up every day when I wake up

And after me until nightfall.

Something happens,

Something moved,

Something incomprehensible,

A new friend?

They say that being is almost live

And living is the limit of what you can want.

In fact, something happens that one wants to be here,

However, not all this desire craves.

Nothing is enough

When no longer feels the aroma of flowers,

When the color no longer thrill

And they cannot be sold to look.

Gave me such rare moments

Feeding the future although at present,

But waking I do in all my steps

Get me the taste of things even in thought.

In my noble and poor land I wander

And I feed the memories of liars,

Get drunk me with joy and gladness

And insistent way in the land of lepers.

In my humble vacant land,

Time is proud, ignorant time.

Hunger is rampant around me,

The flesh is weak and soul idem.

I ask as much as the worst of sinners,

Wasting a time that no longer have,

Not differentiate right from wrong,

Share supper with my detractors.

I do not feel the taste of wine,

I do not recognize a smile,

I do not remember the hugs,

I'm finally alone!

I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher

And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes,

There is no any agreement on the price of the meat,

Nor is the first or second.

God, you who are owner of the ages,

Give me the hours its final minute

And cause the whole world to know

That left miserable after all.

Grant then that desire

And finish time with this work,

Free cities this unfortunate

Who insists on knowing what nobody knows.

When there is fever, it makes no difference,

There are times the blood is poison.

Red is the color of anger and sin:

The poet knows when he is sentenced.

If there is even poetry these avenues

As equal in different cities,

To be recognized

For the sake of pursuing life.

Burial in the deepest memory

The giant concrete towers,

The grotesque glass structures

That mimics a new artery.

A new artery,

A new lifestyle,

A new company

And an early cardiac arrest.

As the cars kissing the avenues

Meeting the perfect companion

That tells me in the ear:

"_Accept me as the only one"

Finally, fear runs through my veins

And feeding a forgotten feeling,

An absurd desire to see the next day

And try another outlet.

All the streets are congested.

A whole shantytown has just been set on fire

While some locals try to save

What remains of an entirely bankrupt life?

There is a twist

Around this humble heart,

A carnival,

Almost a provocation.

All veins are old and weak,

There is melancholy at all.

Even without poetry,

Without free will, there is life at all.

This city is just brick,

Metal, sweat, concrete and glass,

Cement stuck to feeling

Often beautiful and often ugly.

This city is sand,

Concrete and feeling,

Sorrows and joys,

Poetry thrown to the wind.

Some people learn early, some not -

Live life day in and day out.

Some dance to the song,

Others are lost before the chorus.

Some are always right, some not -

Many are lost in illusion.

While some running, others sleep

And all seek some direction.

Some dream rock bottom,

Others dream of the river bottom.

Some seek independence,

Others are the exception.

Some people win,

There are people who are lost,

Some people becomes the problem

And others think is the solution.

Digress weather

What about the "types" that encounters in this life.

I lose a second in this lost time

And even with so little sense, how rare is the time!

If you have no idea, nor do I know.

Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too.

Perhaps the addiction that affects equal

Is something that arises only between abnormal?

I addiction with its tapas

And in each sip of his cup,

Each exaggerated affection offered

In exchange for a few bucks.

I dirty me with your lies

And assimilate water from your gutters,

I learn new shortcuts in every way

And erase the traces of my own steps.

I chase you in every church and every home

I swallow my irony,

Visit each elderly

And make friends with the hospice house.

Far reaches thy wickedness

And how many hugs another's grief?

Can evil be so inspired?

The point of the very surprised to be expected?

Life bleeds leaving the left chest

The children of the world that the world does not want,

Spread the news that sadness has hair

And more brown eyes than mine.

I notice refinements of cruelty

In this urban masochism

Where poverty has older

And the lie became just a vanity.

I transform

In all more abhor,

I emerge in the mirror

As my own killer.

I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room

Little souls endangered

And throw in the trash the dreams of those who

He believed devoutly one day be part of reality.

I still feel the skin marked by fire

The brand that hurts the brand of truth

And I pray that one day cease searches

And everything becomes futile.

The happiness of fuel

Corrode and fades away slowly

Gradually me satisfaction

With the balance that sustains me.

When I look at my own face, it hurts.

I exhale the body the rest of fear

And I try not to see how strange the line of truth -

Seeking the path that leads to freedom.

Disguise my desires

And repress my absurd,

Hug each nightmare

And hide my darker side.

I try to see something beyond the abyss,

Find something else beyond the walls,

Transcribe all longings

Hidden behind every dream.

I am eternal,

Sinister,

Land and fraternal

While the world lasts.

There is this chest a divided heart

Created almost between two worlds,

The world is inside the abyss

And what one sees behind the walls.

My corner is stumped

As well as the small voice and uncertain

From the little that is hidden on the other side,

My other side of that wall.

What have other corners?

They also have these sides

But what counts in these corners

Also rhyme in other valleys.

Bright lights bother many people.

Darkness feeds inconsequential.

High walls with brass railings gleaming

Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen?

Urban flowers are so amazing

And this depression is so exciting.

Smiles are bitter and needy

And the pain married to vows of love.

These buildings are so interesting,

Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds,

Where transiting the fair and honest

Munching vanity and rancor.

The cars pass and illuminate so many people,

Whites, blacks and children without color.

Poets are so tucked the irreverent

Assimilating the pain and all that is.

I see lives that trace the same plane,

joy of generations by mistake ,

Marks of time that are pure desperation

Charting together a colorless future.

I see faces full of hope

Burning in public because of their color,

Those who live without even realizing it,

A cold paint drips without why.

Bodies dancing high parapets

Almost always go so early

Challenging theories and concepts

And ignoring all kinds of love.

My steps are so slow

And so intense movements,

The faces are always the same

And I hope again the sunset.

Justice who is in charge of giving clemency

The presumed innocent

Transiting the streets

Spreading hope and love.

I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus

And the annunciation in the middle of spring,

I want to be like St. Augustine

And read the scriptures by candlelight.

I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers

Even in December the ink is red.

I want to have new flower garden in the backyard

And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental.

Just want something passionately

Even being so blind and alone?

That goodbye is worthy

And everything to return finally to dust.

The idea comes suddenly

To celebrate as an illiterate,

Prepare a table and invite

Only those who are hungry.

All this turmoil,

All this protest,

All thefts

This legion inside me...

Melancholy has always had its place,

Love, sadness and bitter returns,

Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd

And embrace the darkness itself.

Find it romantic suffer

For pain that recognizes pain that always sees

It is more than a disease, it is a love affair

For all that hurts and causes pain.

I let them think I was defeated

With the unexpected attacks

Of those who cry shouts of victory

And they forgot to be buried.

I leave them to play in my back

The guilt of all blame,

Let it burn my entire story,

It does not matter that much.

My lips run on search words

And my eyes run in search of beauty,

Drawing liar’s feelings

That shut all the bells around.

Words come out like blades

In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth

This other me who hates me so much

And all challenges at first.

In the spring mornings leaves dance

Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day,

Is this life?

_It’s this they call life?

I want to find the lost word

Among the tasks of the day to day

What is so profane?

The prohibited!

I want to meet a new season

Bring me a sense of relief,

Find what they call happiness

And maybe learn what it is.

An epidemic,

Leukemia,

Rimes illustrating

An eternal melodrama.

You cannot have everything!

Not always beautiful are our days

And we keep waking up.

Roses do not speak, but are also alive.

There is hunger for love!

There is hunger and what will?

There is hunger in this home?

If there is hunger, then there.

There is time for everything!

There is time to smile,

No time to cry,

There is time to leave.

I want to run away from home without a warning,

Running between the wheat fields

And let all afflicted

Trying to understand what had happened.

I want to cause confusion,

The same kind that I bring in my heart.

I want water all around

With the storm inside me.

I want to wake up the sleeping

And those who never agreed,

I want to find out who they are

And spread about us.

Lovers of this pain,

Thirsty without knowing

Where else to enjoy,

Where else to call "home".

I shift my gaze

With all the hatred of this world

Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds

Who recognize me in a second?

I want to break these chains,

Scratching walls,

Promote anarchy

And imprison noon.

I want rain penknives

While tear my clothes,

I cut my wrists

And count all the drops.

A day can be

Something happens

And make to cease this endless grief

And everything changes, anyway.

So lose the naivety

What remains this morning?

I envision the absurdity that all I see

Is still something to be remembered?

Maybe one day

Poetry is done singing

And the light breeze the corner

Everywhere!

I want to get a perfect world,

I want to love what is defective,

I want to explore my own room,

Make another deal.

I want to shake you violently that coffin

And show where all the mice,

Ignite old blankets

Which now they were pretty.

I want to show you I love you

And I hate you,

I can live alone,

But also not live without you.

My madness is productive

At the same time, destructive:

It satisfies the crowd inside.

I refuse to be part of the pack

Strolling in supermarkets,

Feigning patience as immoderate

The suffered.

I like debris,

I collect dust,

Make enemies,

Cultivation dreams.

I constantly change identity

And lose track of reality,

My state is ill

And I'm terminal and disposable.

I participate in this game,

This novel in decline

This disgusting theater of horrors

Where only the blind are honest.

I am thoroughly enslaved

While deprive me of the privilege of choice,

Burying our will

In the deepest pit.

The wall that separates us is low

And we walked jumping from one side to the other,

Often both exist

And others, only I exist.

We are a nun and a w***e

Plotting an eternal dispute

Between the two sides of the coin

To decide who runs and who fight.

As simple as saying your name

Spell out the pieces of your body.

I want to understand what God's grace

If your body will never be only yours.

Your body exudes the morning sweat,

Clouds hid the principle of pain,

Pain discovers a new form of pleasure

And the pleasure is expensive to you.

Your blood runs nearly everywhere

And a new world opens up suddenly,

Frighten the fleeting pain

And wait with his only love the sunrise.

I wipe the sweat oozes from you,

You wipe the tears falling from me,

If you can be in the world some endless love

The only certainty is that there was never before such love.

I want to wake you up

To hear my screams at dawn,

Show you what genuine despondency is

And not left me anymore.

I want to recognize me

And take me to your bed,

Not left with nothing

In addition to beating in his chest.

I want to be part of its history

And I want to be a constant presence in my,

The world spit their prejudices

And the fire that also burns in the heat.

I want to break the mirrors

And heal our sickness,

Assaulting what kills us

Every day, forever.

Serene and calm give you what remains

With my last breath,

What's best in me now rests

And rest my mind.

My sweat is true

It is also all the pain.

Blood is final

And it goes to the last vows of love.

The entire storm inside me

Now relax my heart,

Soothes My Soul

And feeds the reason.

I walk by this peaceful land

And growing a new crop of wheat,

I do a incognita a new partner

And the fear is not definitive.

I harvest hope

Where before there was only bitterness.

I am ashamed

And regret.

I accept the entire cross

And fight against the serpent.

I heal my wounds.

And my success is violent.

Time is short

And I want to scream that entire plan,

There is still a flame inside

And only her surrender.

What was misery,

What was despair,

What was hungry,

What was fear…

What was pain,

What was love,

What it had value

And when there was time…

What is born of this land?

Nothing is born,

Nothing grows

In this desolate land.

 

 

What is born on this land?

What grows in this land?

Nothing is born on this land,

My private wasteland.

Author's Note

Please, be honest...

Reviews

[Ria Carol]

Its an absolutely wonderful poem and very heart felt write. Beautifully written and very well thought of!
Amazing job

[Adroaldo Barbosa Jr.]

Thank you Ria, thank you very much.

[Shabeeh Haider]

This is A very touching and heartfelt write. I can feel the pain in your words a you describe this journey that cannot be understood.
I felt as if I was walking along with you and visualizing everything.

*shabeeh*

[Adroaldo Barbosa Jr.]

Thank you Shabeeh... one of the sadiest poems i've ever write. Realy realy wanted you feel the pain i felt..