my last day

If today would be my last day, I would never want to die.
Because today I'm doing nothing.
Nothing useful.
Nothing of all the MANY THINGS I should do but I don't want to.
I'm blocked.

Maybe I'm anxious about a national competition I'll partecipate in 12 days: if I'll pass, I could change my life. But there isn't good chance: we are more than 80.000 people for 11.000 positions (teachers). But maybe in my region and for my subject the chances are even less.

And if I pass it, I would be happy? That would really be the solution to my neverending dissatisfaction? I don't know.

I never know nothing, but I'm not a teenager. All the other people seem to know very well what they want, but not me. All the other people seem to pursue a goal, but not me.
I'm always insecure: I thought it would have change with the age, but it isn't so.
 

My first kiss

It seems yesterday
on the beach,
after days of
mute glances,
your lips
on mine.

Fifteen years,
burning heart,
exchanging letters
for years:
that sweet kiss'
memory
imprinted
in my mind...

Dear Ahmet,
thank you for
your tenderness,
that introduced me
to love,
under the moon,
on Pamuçak's sand.

 

16/04/2007

 

Spoken into the Void

Dreaming - pencil and crayon on paper

I wonder if somebody will read my words.

Words lost in the endless net.

Maybe I write just for myself,

to cry the loneliness I feel inside.

All I need is love,

the Beatles were right:

without love we are nothing.

But wich love?

Is enough friends' love?

Children's love?

Parents' love?

Pets' love?

Maybe...

maybe not...

Nicolau

 

Under August's sun

in Mertola's square

you waited for somebody,

pushed by sultriness,

peering greedily

in your hand-cart.

Only three flavours for the palate:

cream, strawberry and chocolate.

Until evening

at every passerby

you anxious stand up,

maybe a customer!

I still imagine

you on the bench

raking around restless,

cleaning the hand-cart,

stand up and sit down...

Finally fill a cone

of ice-cream

and give it to the child

who smiles at you...

 

12/03/2007

The fish

 

Conforming

for once:

to know what to say,

dressed in fashion,

between a beautician

and a yoga class.

Not always a fish,

floundering dumb,

yearning somewhere

calling for help.

 

28/01/2007

Like a tuna

Sea Alphabet - Tempera and china ink on paper.

I'm like a tuna

in a sardine box.



Oppressed,

forced,

faded,

fenced.

I've got a broken wing

and a chain.

I can't fly

I, a moth.

 

25/01/2007

Osmosis

Lace up - Pencil on paper

Hug me hard,

without words,

and by osmosis

tell me you love me!

24/05/2007