Com as mãos nos bolsos, sob o sol inclemente, desço a rua
arrastando, insolentemente, os meus chinelos.
O sol mente!
O sol mente dizendo que não me queimar, enquanto me
queima.
Apesar de tudo creio que o sol não furtará os pensamentos
que, descuidados, rolam em minha mente implorando para
serem pensados, e eu os penso.
Penso, penso sobre; quando terá sido a última vez que
passei por esta mesma rua que agora, displicente, caminho.
O sol é escaldante, o vento com preguiça de soprar, sopra
preguiçosamente enquanto o calor abrasador desove os
pensamentos que vagam em minha mente.
Desço a rua calmamente enquanto procuro em meus
bolsos o que não encontro em minha cabeça.
Por que insisto em viver a vida quando vida não se
importa comigo?
Desço a rua com as mãos no bolso e sigo assim sem a
intenção de chegar a lugar algum.
Com a mente obstruída pelo calor do sol desço a rua com
passos displicentes, louco para chegar onde o dia nasceu.
De repente paro!
Paro diante de um pensamento que há muito perdi e que
agora, senhor já idoso, retorna para me questionar.
O sol é escaldante e os meus pés, descalços, caminham
sobre o cascalho quente que o vento com preguiça se
recusa a soprar.
Enquanto desço a rua com a mente repleta de pensamentos
que odeiam serem pensados, o sol chicoteia a minha pele
querendo me obrigar a voltar para casa.
Lido da Silva - Brasília, janeiro de 2012.
*
Midday sun
With my hands in my pockets, under the merciless sun,
I walk down the street, dragging my flip-flops insolently.
The sun lies!
The sun lies, saying it won’t burn me, while it
burns me.
Despite everything, I believe the sun won’t steal the thoughts
that, carelessly, roll through my mind, begging to
be thought about—and I think them.
I think, I think about it: when was the last time I
walked down this very same street that I now stroll down,
The sun lies!
The sun lies, saying it won’t burn me, while it
burns me.
Despite everything, I believe the sun won’t steal the thoughts
that, carelessly, roll through my mind, begging to
be thought about—and I think them.
I think, I think about it: when was the last time I
walked down this very same street that I now stroll down,
nonchalantly.
The sun is scorching; the wind, too lazy to blow, blows
lazily while the searing heat spawns the
thoughts that wander through my mind.
I walk down the street calmly while searching my
pockets for what I can’t find in my head.
Why do I insist on living life when life doesn’t
care about me?
I walk down the street with my hands in my pockets and
The sun is scorching; the wind, too lazy to blow, blows
lazily while the searing heat spawns the
thoughts that wander through my mind.
I walk down the street calmly while searching my
pockets for what I can’t find in my head.
Why do I insist on living life when life doesn’t
care about me?
I walk down the street with my hands in my pockets and
carry on like this with no intention of getting anywhere.
With my mind clouded by the sun’s heat, I walk down the
With my mind clouded by the sun’s heat, I walk down the
street with carefree steps, desperate to reach where the day
began.
Suddenly, I stop!
I stop before a thought I lost long ago and that
now, as an elderly man, returns to question me.
The sun is scorching, and my bare feet walk
over the hot gravel that the wind lazily refuses to blow across.
As I walk down the street with my mind full of thoughts
that hate being thought, the sun lashes my skin,
trying to force me to go home.
Suddenly, I stop!
I stop before a thought I lost long ago and that
now, as an elderly man, returns to question me.
The sun is scorching, and my bare feet walk
over the hot gravel that the wind lazily refuses to blow across.
As I walk down the street with my mind full of thoughts
that hate being thought, the sun lashes my skin,
trying to force me to go home.
*
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