The alarm ticks. The boiler rustles.
The refrigerator shakes on and off.
The rain beats against the window.
The darkness has us in its power.

Sleep gives the heart and breath over
to the rhythm of the night.
The soul hangs quietly to dry
on its lines of silverwhite.

Morning reverses the roles.
The shower rustles. The kettle whistles.
The coffee drips. The darkness
retreats into the curtains

and waits, and waits, but waits and,
waits.

poema encontrado aqui

O tic-tac do despertador. O sussurro da caldeira.
O fremir do frigorífico quando liga e desliga.
Os batimentos da chuva contra a janela.
A escuridão apodera-se de nós.

O sono entrega o coração e a respiração
ao ritmo da noite.
A alma a secar calmamente pendurada
nas suas cordas branco-prateadas.

A manhã inverte os papeis.
O barulho do chuveiro. O apito da chaleira.
O café a gotejar. A escuridão
esconde-se nas cortinas

e espera, e espera, apenas espera e,
espera.

tradução: at

The alarm ticks. The boiler rustles.
The refrigerator shakes on and off.
The rain beats against the window.
The darkness has us in its power.

Sleep gives the heart and breath over
to the rhythm of the night.
The soul hangs quietly to dry
on its lines of silverwhite.

Morning reverses the roles.
The shower rustles. The kettle whistles.
The coffee drips. The darkness
retreats into the curtains

and waits, and waits, but waits and,
waits.

poema encontrado aqui

O tic-tac do despertador. O sussurro da caldeira.
O fremir do frigorífico quando liga e desliga.
Os batimentos da chuva contra a janela.
A escuridão apodera-se de nós.

O sono entrega o coração e a respiração
ao ritmo da noite.
A alma a secar calmamente pendurada
nas suas cordas branco-prateadas.

A manhã inverte os papeis.
O barulho do chuveiro. O apito da chaleira.
O café a gotejar. A escuridão
esconde-se nas cortinas

e espera, e espera, apenas espera e,
espera.

tradução: at

Never before so devastatingly eaten up
as during this conversation with
a praying mantis in tie and three-piece-suit.
Words fall on the table, marbles fall
on the glass plate. He takes sips of my
life story and belches with dissatisfaction.
He rolls me up. He lights me up
and smokes me. Then I am allowed to go.
Later, they call my bodily remains.

I got the job.

poema encontrado aqui

I don't know
where it comes from
this screaming from
paper roofs
the strange obsession
to continuously say
what I think
and what I think I am

but when it's you
you recognize the strophes
shake sneakily
the paper the hand
when it's you
it is only printer's ink
that divides us
can yet divide

poema encontrado aqui