Les tardes plujoses de tardor rellegeixo Pessoa: Tudo quanto pensei, tudo quanto sonhei, tudo quanto fiz ou não fiz -- tudo isso irá no outono, como os fósforos gastos que juncam o chão em diversos sentidos, ou os papéis amarrotados em bolas falsas, ou os grandes impérios, as religiões todas, as filosofias com que brincaram, fazendo-as, as crianças sonolentas do abismo. Tudo quanto foi minha alma, desde tudo a que aspirei à casa vulgar em que moro, desde os deuses que tive ao patrão Vasques que também tive, tudo vai no outono, tudo no outono, na ternura indiferente do outono. Tudo no outono, sim, tudo no outono...
(Livro do desassossego, 202)
Nothing Lasts Forever (Brett Dennen)
ResponEliminaI saw you spiraling
I saw you spinning back in time
through all your memories
such a quiet disease
you had forgotten me
but I'll always remember you dancing
across the kitchen in your orange handkerchief
such a quiet disease
I pray that when you dream you would remember everything
you know it all comes back to you
in one conscience dream
maybe you'd sing and put words to all the things
that you think of in a day
but forgotten how to say
nothing last forever
not even the mountains
someday they will be swept away and swallowed by the sea
we all shall be blessedly released
life is so precious it's as fragile as a dream
and in a moment we all grow our wings
I wish to sing as if no ones listening
I wish to dance as if no one is watching
I wish to dance as if no one is watching
and I, give thanks for my dreams
you can rob me of my sight
and you can poison my blood stream
but as long as I can dream then life is worth living
nothing last forever
not even the mountains
someday they will be swept away and swallowed by the sea
we all shall be blessedly released
nothing last forever
not even the sun
for all we know it could have burned out light years ago
darkness remains the hardest thing for us to outrun
Gràcies per la teva veu. Tot se'n va amb la llum que minva, tot es desfà a bocins com la poma que cau i no es menja... Alguna cosa resta
ResponEliminaa la terra que acull el passat de la poma, les despulles, alguna cosa resta a un revolt del cervell que et fa ser tu, que em fa ser jo... i romandre