And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall 

be lifted - nevermore!

E a minha alma, de fora, a sombra que flutua no chão, será levantada, nunca mais!

Edgard Allan Poe

Lament for Syria

 by Amineh Abou Kerech

Syrian doves croon above my head

their call cries in my eyes.

I’m trying to design a country

that will go with my poetry

and not get in the way when I’m thinking,

where soldiers don’t walk over my face.

I’m trying to design a country

which will be worthy of me if I’m ever a poet

and make allowances if I burst into tears.

I’m trying to design a City

of Love, Peace, Concord and Virtue,

free of mess, war, wreckage and misery.

*

Oh Syria, my love

I hear your moaning

in the cries of the doves.

I hear your screaming cry.

I left your land and merciful soil

And your fragrance of jasmine

My wing is broken like your wing.

*

I am from Syria

From a land where people pick up a discarded piece of bread

So that it does not get trampled on

From a place where a mother teaches her son not to step on an ant at the end of the day.

From a place where a teenager hides his cigarette from his old brother out of respect.

From a place where old ladies would water jasmine trees at dawn.

From the neighbours’ coffee in the morning

From: after you, aunt; as you wish, uncle; with pleasure, sister…

From a place which endured, which waited, which is still waiting for relief.

*

Syria.

I will not write poetry for anyone else.

*

Can anyone teach me

how to make a homeland?

Heartfelt thanks if you can,

heartiest thanks,

from the house-sparrows,

the apple-trees of Syria,

and yours very sincerely.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/oct/01/the-13-year-old-syrian-refugee-prizewinning-poet-amineh-abou-kerech-betjeman-prize

The hollow men

Somos homens vazios
Somos homens empalhados
uns nos outros apoiados
cabeça cheia de palha, ai !
Forma sem feitio, sombra sem cor,
Paralisada força, gesto sem ação...

T.S. Elliot

Passeio a primeira neve

Passeio a primeira neve,
No coração os lírios forças inflamam,
A noite fixa azul
única estrela no caminho
Não sei se luz ou trevas ?
vento ou galo vibra adágio a floresta?
Em vez talvez do inverno nos campos
Serão cisnes tingindo verdes prados
Bonito que és, branco espelho de neve !
ferve-me o sangue a leve geada.
Desejo de apertar contra a pele
O seio em carne viva das bétulas
Ò bruma espessa da floresta !
Ó fresta dos trigais em neve !
Desejo de possuir pelo braço
o selvagem quadril das tílias.

Serguei A Essênin