terça-feira, 31 de julho de 2012
Pequena, por assim dizer. O tempo urge e, eventualmente, todos nos sentimos invadidos por um invulgar sentimento de nostalgia. Talvez a palavra pequena esteja aplicada incorretamente. Era nova, instavelmente nova e ingénua e, espantosamente, mais independente. Momentaneamente, as amarras são outras. Parecem tão frágeis, tão insignificantes, tão falsas. A liberdade de outrora permitia-me embrenhar-me em projetos utópicos, que eu abraçava com a força do mundo e a vontade de uma criança. E todas as minhas expressões eram sorrisos. Por vezes, vazios, mas, ainda assim, sorrisos. Gargalhadas até! Ironias, contrariedades. O medo preenche-nos, a saudade afunda-nos. Pedaços de alma que entregámos aos outros fazem-nos agora falta. A incerteza da segurança anteriormente recuperável assume o comando das nossas expectativas. Infelizes dos que não duvidam do poder da confiança quebrada e dos que fingem desdenhar da proeza dos pincéis!
terça-feira, 3 de julho de 2012
Momentos nostálgicos encalhados em entraves memoriais.
Elementos dispersos entre o encanto infundado e incontornável da poesia e as aguarelas já secas em papel pardo. As pétalas e as inevitáveis pingas de nectar numa chávena de chá. As suaves notas de um piano, culminando num toque arrepiante. O ruído delicioso do saxofone a esvaziar a carregada atmosfera sufocante. As linhas despidas de cor num bordado inglês. A farinha incorporando os poros de vidas amargamente doces. Findando o dia, resta-nos a ausência das cerejeiras, o abandono dos tons cinza , a riqueza do teu temperamento, os meus vestidos intemporais e o pó de pastel e carvão a fermentar as nossas ilusões.
Elementos dispersos entre o encanto infundado e incontornável da poesia e as aguarelas já secas em papel pardo. As pétalas e as inevitáveis pingas de nectar numa chávena de chá. As suaves notas de um piano, culminando num toque arrepiante. O ruído delicioso do saxofone a esvaziar a carregada atmosfera sufocante. As linhas despidas de cor num bordado inglês. A farinha incorporando os poros de vidas amargamente doces. Findando o dia, resta-nos a ausência das cerejeiras, o abandono dos tons cinza , a riqueza do teu temperamento, os meus vestidos intemporais e o pó de pastel e carvão a fermentar as nossas ilusões.
segunda-feira, 2 de julho de 2012
I don't know why I'm frightened
I know my way around here
The cardboard trees, the painted scenes, the sound here!
Yes a world to rediscover,
But I'm not in any hurry
And I need a moment.
The whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways,
The atmosphere as thrilling here as always
Feel the early morning madness
Feel the magic in the making
Why everything's as if we never said goodbye.
I've spent so many mornings
Just trying to resist you
I'm trembling now
You can't know how I've missed you,
Missed the fairy-tail adventures
In this ever-spinning playground
We were young together.
I'm coming out of make-up
The lights already burning,
Not long until the camera's will start turning
And the early morning madness
And the magic in the making...
Yes, everything is as if we never said goodbye.
I don't want to be alone that's all in the past,
This world's waited long enough,
I've come home at last!
And this time will be bigger,
And brighter than we knew it.
So watch me fly, we all know I can do it...
Could I stop my hand from shaking?
Has there ever been a moment with so much to live for?
The whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways,
So much to say not just today but always.
We'll have early morning madness
We'll have magic in the making.
Yes, everything is as if we never said goodbye...
Oh, please don't ever ever make me say goodbye!
I know my way around here
The cardboard trees, the painted scenes, the sound here!
Yes a world to rediscover,
But I'm not in any hurry
And I need a moment.
The whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways,
The atmosphere as thrilling here as always
Feel the early morning madness
Feel the magic in the making
Why everything's as if we never said goodbye.
I've spent so many mornings
Just trying to resist you
I'm trembling now
You can't know how I've missed you,
Missed the fairy-tail adventures
In this ever-spinning playground
We were young together.
I'm coming out of make-up
The lights already burning,
Not long until the camera's will start turning
And the early morning madness
And the magic in the making...
Yes, everything is as if we never said goodbye.
I don't want to be alone that's all in the past,
This world's waited long enough,
I've come home at last!
And this time will be bigger,
And brighter than we knew it.
So watch me fly, we all know I can do it...
Could I stop my hand from shaking?
Has there ever been a moment with so much to live for?
The whispered conversations in overcrowded hallways,
So much to say not just today but always.
We'll have early morning madness
We'll have magic in the making.
Yes, everything is as if we never said goodbye...
Oh, please don't ever ever make me say goodbye!
I know I gave it to you months ago
I know you're trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I'm trying hard to take it back
Sempre soubeste, não foi? Demorei muito tempo, demasiado tempo, a descobrir aquilo que, para ti, era óbvio. E, indubitavelmente, tu esperaste. Tu sabias, tu já sabias. Mas esperaste.
I know you're trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I'm trying hard to take it back
Sempre soubeste, não foi? Demorei muito tempo, demasiado tempo, a descobrir aquilo que, para ti, era óbvio. E, indubitavelmente, tu esperaste. Tu sabias, tu já sabias. Mas esperaste.
terça-feira, 5 de junho de 2012
sexta-feira, 1 de junho de 2012
Summer has come and passed
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when september ends
Like my father's come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
The innocent can never last
Wake me up when september ends
Like my father's come to pass
Seven years has gone so fast
Ring out the bells again
Like we did when spring began
O tempo tem passado. Sem ti. Mesmo sem ti, o tempo tem passado. E eu nunca tive oportunidade de chorar a tua morte.
Subscrever:
Mensagens (Atom)