DÉCIMO  PRIMEIRO  VERSO

 

 

MEDE  PRECISA  ESTA  BANAL  PACIÊNCIA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Escolha aleatoriamente um número entre 1064 e 1177 inclusive.

 

Descubra o poema correspondente como uma mensagem particular para o seu dia de hoje.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1064                                                                                                                    O problema é que estafa...

Mede precisa                                                                                                    - E, depois, como ele abafa!

 

Mede precisa

Esta banal paciência                                                                                        1068

Que visa                                                                                                             Acontecer

Descortinar por trás da indolência

O sentido                                                                                                           Para onde quer que vá

Da espera                                                                                                           Jamais eu me irei perder

- Eis o que convido                                                                                          Nem tu, que jamais repoisas:

A intransigência                                                                                               Estamos cá

A descobrir no que era.                                                                                   Para acontecerem coisas,

Senão, em vez do futuro                                                                                  - Estamos sempre a acontecer!

Ergue um muro.

 

                                                                                                                             1069

1065                                                                                                                     Pureza

Impossível

                                                                                                                             Conflito de gerações,

Não se empenhe em atingir                                                                             Luta de classes,

O impossível.                                                                                                     Guerra...

Procure apenas subir                                                                                       Não são vítimas aos milhões,

O degrau visível.                                                                                              A tragédia dos impasses,

Então se espante:                                                                                             O que mais aterra.

- O impossível está diante!

                                                                                                                            É que uma ave engaiolada,

                                                                                                                            Se conquista a liberdade,

1066                                                                                                                    É recebida à bicada

Brinquedo                                                                                                         Pelas mais, quando da entrada

                                                                                                                            Nesta nova identidade:

Perde o medo,

Não a leves tão a sério,                                                                                   Como é que parece um mal

Que a vida, em qualquer lugar,                                                                      A pureza original?

É um brinquedo

De montar

Cujo mistério                                                                                                     1070

É convir por vezes sacrificar a rainha                                                            Luz

Quando ninguém pensava que convinha.

                                                                                                                             Que bom caminhar

                                                                                                                             Sobre luz!

1067                                                                                                                     O que seduz

Lata                                                                                                                     Num lugar

                                                                                                                             É que nos dê alta

Na grande cidade                                                                                              Da doença que mais demora:

A frialdade                                                                                                         - De luz esta falta

É que nos cadaveriza.                                                                                      De dentro para fora.

 

No bairro de lata

O que acata                                                                                                        1071

É a quente brisa                                                                                                 Exemplares

 

Do calor humano,                                                                                              Se os vivos são desnorteados,

Tão quente que é de rachar,                                                                            Insiste, não pares:

Tão intenso que me irmano                                                                             Como cadáveres adiados

Com o lugar.                                                                                                       São exemplares!

 

 

                                                                ============================================================ 

 

1072                                                                                                                    O fim do mundo

Humor                                                                                                               Até,

                                                                                                                            Quando o aprofundo,

O bom-humor                                                                                                   Às vezes o põe de pé.

Não convém

Que seja uma mesquinhez.                                                                             A escuridão eterna

É um gesto de amor                                                                                         Desanima,

Que uns aos outros nos atém,                                                                      Até que vejo nela a lucerna

Impedindo-nos, de vez,                                                                                  Que ilumina.

Do sorriso sob o império,

De encarar a vida demasiado a sério.

                                                                                                                           1077

                                                                                                                           Canibal

1073

Arcanos                                                                                                            Canibal

                                                                                                                           É quem come o vizinho,

No Natal,                                                                                                           Espiritual

No dia  de anos,                                                                                               É comê-lo em pão e vinho.

Na Páscoa, no Carnaval                                                                                  Real

Entremostram-se os arcanos.                                                                         E não fantasia

                                                                                                                            É sugar a mente dos escravos

A comida tem sabor,                                                                                        Tornados mercadoria

Mas sabe mais um bocado:                                                                            Sem agravos.

Sabe ao que sabe e, melhor,                                                                           E um auto de fé

Sabe ao seu significado.                                                                                 Assando a vida na fogueira

                                                                                                                            É antropofagia da vista até

                                                                                                                            Ao cheiro.

1074                                                                                                                    Tudo isto, primeiro,

Buraco                                                                                                               Começou em casa à lareira:

                                                                                                                            Quanto mais civilizados,

Convém                                                                                                             Mais os canibais andam mascarados.

Ver bem

A que me ataco

Para escapar dum lugar:                                                                                  1078

Se caí num buraco,                                                                                           Galanteio

É melhor parar de escavar!

                                                                                                                            De galanteio

                                                                                                                            Nem falo:

1075                                                                                                                    É tenteio

Perdido                                                                                                              De galo.

                                                                                                                            Eriça

Nada está perdido:                                                                                           As penas,

Apenas ocupa um lugar                                                                                  Enliça

Esquecido                                                                                                          As melenas.

Que não devia mais ocupar.                                                                           O que falo

                                                                                                                            Enriça

                                                                                                                            Nas pequenas!

1076                                                                                                                    Eu calo, eu calo...

Sempre

 

Uma ferida                                                                                                         1079

Permanente                                                                                                        Pena

Raramente

O é na vida.                                                                                                       Que pena,

                                                                                                                            Do génio quando morre a estrela!

                                                                                                                            Como a vida é pequena

                                                                                                                            Para ele viver nela!

 

 

                                                                ============================================================ 

 

1080                                                                                                                    1085

Asas                                                                                                                   Crê

 

Que importa voar                                                                                              Um homem de boa mente

Por cima das casas?                                                                                         Crê

Como as ideias não trepam de elevador,                                                       Em tudo quanto vê

Um homem que sabe pensar                                                                           E não vê quanto lhe mente.

Tem mais asas

Que qualquer animal voador.

                                                                                                                            1086

                                                                                                                            Façam

1081

Causa                                                                                                                 Façam lá revoluções

                                                                                                                            À vontade!

O mal                                                                                                                  Preguem a felicidade

São apenas os restos                                                                                       Aos aleijões!

De quanto nos custa:                                                                                       Imponham-na aos invertidos,

Pois não há poder que iguale                                                                          Da eternidade aos fanados,

O dos homens honestos                                                                                  Aos maridos traídos,

Por uma causa justa.                                                                                         Às viúvas dos soldados,

                                                                                                                             Aos paralíticos,

                                                                                                                             Aos impotentes,

1082                                                                                                                     Aos políticos

Banana                                                                                                               Decentes!

                                                                                                                             Lavem os imundos nos recintos,

Era uma vez                                                                                                        Dêem comer aos famintos!

Uma banana num cacho                                                                                   - Mas deixem à solta

Bem dentro dum bananal...                                                                              Esta  loucura criança

O meu revés                                                                                                       Que germina sempre em volta

É que, comendo-a, não acho                                                                           Destes a quem alcança:

Do mais nem vago sinal.                                                                                  Dos poetas, dos pintores,

- Que é do suor                                                                                                  Dos romancistas, dos escritores

Da vida?                                                                                                              Dos que são tão diferentes!

Do tratador                                                                                                         As heresias corta rentes

Que é da lida?                                                                                                    Se quiseres,

                                                                                                                             Mas deixa-mos, tristes e alegres,

                                                                                                                             Sem os tolheres,

1083                                                                                                                     A marchar contra as correntes

Tudo                                                                                                                    Do progresso que integres!

                                                                                                                             - Quem jamais pode pautar

Terei tudo,                                                                                                          A vida

Talvez...                                                                                                               Como em arte ter lugar

Já que, sobretudo,                                                                                             Quando perdida?

Ter tudo

Não é ter tudo duma vez.

                                                                                                                             1087

1084                                                                                                                     Além

Problemas

                                                                                                                            Além, muito além,

"Nada é eterno"                                                                                                O melhor de mim,

- É o melhor de nossos lemas:                                                                        Onde não chega ninguém.

Livra-nos do inferno                                                                                        A inércia me leva ao fim

Dos problemas!                                                                                                Por sendas que não são minhas,

                                                                                                                            Onde me revelo alheio

                                                                                                                            Doutrem nos traços e linhas

                                                                                                                            Que sou eu rasgado ao meio.

                                                                                                                            Nisto sou mas sem segredos,

 

 

                                                                ============================================================

 

É de mim que assim me corto:                                                                        1092

Revelado em meus degredos                                                                         Erro

Sou eu, sou, mas estou morto!

                                                                                                                            Ao erro, vence-o

                                                                                                                            O laboratório, as retortas

1088                                                                                                                    Rasgam-lhe no muro novas portas,

Liga                                                                                                                    Enquanto mastigam em silêncio

                                                                                                                            As palavras mortas.

Tão ligados, tão iguais!                                                                                  As palavras de esconjuro

- É sinal                                                                                                              Nunca derrubaram o muro.

Que a aflição os liga mais

Que qualquer amor carnal.

                                                                                                                            1093

                                                                                                                            Guerra

1089

Paz                                                                                                                      O pior da guerra

                                                                                                                             Não é estar em todo o lado.