Era o mar?
Não. Era o ir e não voltar...
O adormecer, nesse som de revolta que vem e passa!
Essa sabedoria de penetrar o areal sem findar existência!
Era o ensurdecer do que me atormenta.
E que tormenta!
Que tempestade de Luz!

Expele. Respira fundo.
É tudo Magnífico!
Ipse dixit

I don’t know how many souls I have.
I’ve changed at every moment.
I always feel like a stranger.
I’ve never seen or found myself.
From being so much, I have only soul.
A man who has soul has no calm.
A man who sees is just what he sees.
A man who feels is not who he is.

Attentive to what I am and see,
I become them and stop being I.
Each of my dreams and each desire
Belongs to whoever had it, not me.
I am my own landscape,
I watch myself journey -
Various, mobile, and alone.
Here where I am I can’t feel myself.

That’s why I read, as a stranger,
My being as if it were pages.
Not knowing what will come
And forgetting what has passed,
I n