She knew herself some great actresses that roamed in
rooms full of mirrors. How important it is not to be happy, but to seem happy,
to always have a laugh to echo other’s pains, to be superior, better, more
this, more that. How great it is to always have plans for life, not thinking
much but doing loads. “What is the point of it”, she questioned, with an abrupt
reality weighting upon her shoulders. How heavy she felt to think of those
things, of those samples of human life! She was never like them. If she could
have been proud of one thing, it would have been being conscious enough to
identify a liar when she feels like one. It was major in her purpose to know
herself deeply, and all these hide and seek plays kept her from doing what she felt
she needed to do. “It is rather essential to have an ambition”, she concluded,
“and how am I supposed to follow mine if I have to seem robotically figured out
in the meantime?”. It made her angry to think of this unfairness. She could not
cope with this stupidity human fear invented to keep people’s egos intact. She
soon realized the importance of self-love, but she still couldn’t adore
herself, since she had not discovered who herself surely was. And that was the
ultimate quest, wasn’t it? To figure out who she was.
Where are we?
Mother, what
have we done to each other?
When did we stop
kissing goodnight?
My sheets have
gone troubled and I wish to know why.
And when did we
decide that beds are only made for one?
Solitude is only
bliss when optional
Mother, how have
we turned so bitter?
Where did we
bury our rainy days?
And the perky
roses we drew? Where are they?
Are they in a
different garden now, Mother?
Because I miss their
smell,
The baked flavor
of naivety is growing in my mouth
And I crave for
it every little second.
Mother, I am
puzzled and oblivious.
I cannot
remember where I left the easiness of life.
Is it on the top
shelf? Under the bed?
It is driving me
insane.
How am I supposed
to leave the house without it, Mother?
It is not sweet
and tender anymore outside.
It’s rough against
my skin and I wish I could get it off.
I wish someone
would get it off.
Did I do this to
ourselves?
Did I do this to
myself?
Father, whose
fault is it?
This is a
never-ending riddle
And I am cruel enough
to solve it
As if the blame
would release me from myself.
Where are the
electric blue lights crawling on the walls, Father?
And the harmony
of singing and the guitar calming us down
I miss it
I miss the taste
of melted chocolate in my tongue
The smell of
beer in yours
And the salty
tears that went by
With no fear
No shame
No burden
No blame and no
charades.
Father, I feel I
am going mad.
I keep looking
at the dining table and the empty space struggles my breathing.
Isn’t someone
missing?
There used to be
an extra plate, an extra glass
An extra
everything.
Where are you,
Brother?
Where did you
go?
I recall having
you here all the time
You disappeared
in a flash of mist and watered eyes
And you left
games to play.
Am I supposed to
finish them all by myself, Brother?
I don’t mind if
you get to win.
But can you stay?
I do not want to
play hide and seek.
There are tents
to make
Skates to ride
Songs to listen
to
And a sister to
talk to.
I can’t do it
all by myself, Brother,
And everyone
keeps telling me I have to.
I do not want
to.
I do not need
to.
Is this getting
any harsher?
I can’t take it
anymore.
You used to wipe
this off of my face, Father,
And lift me up
And put me to
sleep.
I do not want to
be brave
I do not want to
be grown
I want to be
part of the furniture
And stay here as
a table or a lamp
Forever doomed
to your sighs and caring eyes
And not complain
at all.
I want Mother to
shout at me when I have a messy room
And I want
Brother to be mad when I am the first to enter the shower.
And I want you,
Father, to warn me about life
To tell what is
and what is not
And to guide me
through it all
Until I am
finally prepared to stop asking questions
And start
answering them.
But if you let
me, I wanted to ask you one last thing.
Where am I,
Father?
Where are we?
Subscrever:
Mensagens (Atom)