Taiguara & Alma Novaes

 

As I listen to Taiguara

I have to pause the pen

Aside is the text of horrors

along with the past deceased,

the fascists and the pederasts,

without praise and other props

to be able to afford to

properly feel the dimension

The impression of the chord

that wakes up the world

in a sixteenth note

whole, obtuse or only half

paused and some semibreves,

to hear the colors,

the message of the flowers,

of the nightingale poet of the land of childhood

Uruguay, Brazil, the world in a ruse

Eternal child

Singing, dazzled

The universe of your body Poem

And the hourglass is releasing sand

Setting the pace and his music, 

I endorse it to you

Dilemma of the Spirit

In the magic of a child

in the sudden perlimpimpim,

In Abracadabra,

In the Eureka of Science,

in the voluptuousness of the lover,

of the aesthete,

The sweetness rises to my chest

and longing plays,

the set of chords,

of melodies,

of symphonies,

world record,

love like this,

sweet, vibrating,

entire fireworks

insult,

monarch butterfly,

in the belly,

castle, brook,

without crime or punishment,

Frenzy 

rhythm

Getting into the ears 

Made of cotton candy

And gliding like cane sugar

My love

when you love,

water, saliva and foam

Boiling, freshness, torrent

that is born from the seed 

lapof the dream

And if it's going to spillin 

the belly of your bed!

what if after listening to Taiguara

crying is necessary

Let it be crying joy

Together with hope

and the dawn in a free regime,

that the child needs all this

unwrapped,

may it be Christmas every day,

here, there, in the world,

let the birds be free,

the words, the speech,

The thought

to create new routes

that is not paid with fear

with a sick body,

or the disturbed mind,

that one does not ask permission for loving,

unconditionally

let nothing be forbidden,

Be a man, a flower

or freedom

That rocks the corners of the world

along with the music, 

the sonnets, the theorems, 

espadrilles,

ballerina and that to the boys

recognize the need

to tear down walls and borders,

to allow themselves 

the art of expressing

to share, to heal

of the wounds of child labor

of human hunger and misery,

religious deception and fraud,

let the roses be sung,

Let us talk about the thorns

outside churches and schools

Without mortifying Christ

that has nothing to do with it

This is what we have destroyed

using his name and not his actions,

Taiguara left

The mascashed verses

aligned with the running time, 

to the chest,

Contemporary

and we who are here,

we need the power of poetry,

without prohibitions or cogitos, 

neither irons nor embers, 

neither shouts nor weapons,

neither handcuffs nor tortures,

neither schemes nor censorship,

nor urns with locks,

to block plebiscites,

we need more poets,

of the brave and brave,

of music in the intervals

And at the end of the beginning

of verbs,

and courage,

to unravel,

The shore where it rises 

Fraternity

where they undress 

the hatred and all the anxiety

and verbalize, act

Recover, achieve

maturity and awareness

spontaneity and

yes, make love

in order to

Stop the violence

and slavery!

There are no rights and no lefts 

There must be honest adults

Stripped of pride

And a way of saying enough is enough

When the fashion is to silence 

via handling system

What hinders lasciviousness

 belly of power.

I know, we all know,

Utopia disfavors

The presumptuous

disqualifies them

it takes them to the margins 

of humanity, to the remnants

of their smallness,

and the wedges 

plus the brothers-in-law,

plus the privileges and the aligned

they have to disappear 

into a Marian cesspool,

drain to a D-day,

Out of the calendar, 

out of the year

of the week, 

on the day

of Taiguara!

Do not deceive the human race

Only love has this strength to unite

What Anger or Ignorance Separates

And making the poet my prose

I confess the feeling

Permanent and pure

Abstract Impressive

Subversive and breathless

That bursts my chest

that it is not pain allergy

Nothing in me is new,

But after you've died

I was reborn like a phoenix,

And I sing you daily

what thou hast provoked in me,

of the discrete hallucination,

remnant, of a time

first

unalterable feeling,

touch your body,

Without losing composure

And not even having to sing again 

the end of the dictatorship,

It's more inside, hotter,

more ointment, more urgent,

the simple score, the warm timbre,

splashing on your portrait,

as Sunday,

pouring out love reborn,

the defense and the ego and dismounted,

the war and the overthrown executioners,

the clear and warm voice,

the merry children twirling,

And in the Garden of Eden

while the poet sings,

I dream my hands on your body,

reaching in his poetry

The ultimate magic of kissing your mouth

crazy fantasy, 

of the flowers the juice,

Of pure animal love

And, my dear, without being a lie, 

without the need for concrete material

Neither vicissitudes, nor excuses

My love

and no false promises of spring,

I, bee in the flower

I'm weaving your body with nuances

to build the canvas

My enchanted soul

stuck in it

While the hourglass sets loose

one more grain of my waiting,

another army of faith and unity,

One more hive, 

Another jar of honey!

That's Taiguara. And faith.