
In bookstores there are no books,
in books no words,
in words no essence:
there are only husks.
In museums and waiting rooms
are painted canvases and fetishes.
In the Academy there are only recordings
of the wildest dances.
In mouths there is only smoke,
in the eyes only distance.
There is a drum in each ear.
A Sahara yawns in the mind.
Nothing frees us from the desert.
Nothing saves us from the drum.
Painted books shed their pages,
becoming husks of Nothing.
June 12, 2006 at 3:48 pm |
I like it…it’s so deep and strong…
March 10, 2008 at 5:26 pm |
The attitude of this poem is melancholy because he sounds kind of gloomy and he is talking about how everything has nothing.
July 12, 2008 at 1:44 am |
Husks are nothing. The universe is shed in the blink of an eye.
January 20, 2009 at 10:49 am |
Sometimes its best to not know..
Its the cause and result of a lot of things… not knowing..
It saves u from guilt but it can bring guilt with it too..
It kills u slowly but it can bring life with it too..
Its a crazy little thing.. not knowing!!!
June 1, 2009 at 10:52 pm |
it’s certainly very deep and touching, specially if it’s translated, portuguese is not an objective language as english but the translation still keeps the strength!
September 14, 2009 at 11:12 am |
hmm nice