Oh mestre da poesia!
Ajuda-me a chamar as etéreas
Esvoaçantes e esquivas
Moças de mantos brancos
E de vestidos de cores por dizer.
Sei que esvoaçam por aí,
Mas nem sempre as vejo
Oiço ou sinto.
Olhos, ouvidos e pele
Cansados dos barulhos do mundo
Da poeira das vozes ácidas
Do nevoeiro do dia-a-dia.
Mas sei que elas me acompanham
Por isso as chamo
E te peço, ó Mestre da Poesia,
Ajuda-me a ouvir
As Musas da Criatividade!
E um autógrafo, dá-me?
©Isa Lisboa
© Isa Lisboa
I see distance
From what was
Once pain.
A paved road
Lies behind
Each square
Marking a story.
I see distance
From who
I once were
And yet
I am now
So much closer
To her
The lost girl.
These walls
Are now
Truly a home
My skin
Is now
My own.
I see distance
From all of that
Which created the scars
I see beauty
In each of them
The skin needed
To be cut
And the blood
Needed to be drained.
I see distance
From that time
When the scars
Have slowly disappeared.
I see distance
But I know
That time is there
Waiting for me
In the distance
That I see.
© Isa Lisboa
Sometimes
I seem to forget
For a brief moment
I seem to forget
The different layers
Of evil in the world.
For a brief moment
I am reminded
That good people
Can do bad things
That fear
Can darken a heart.
Sometimes
My heart feels darkened
Too.
Seeing that humans forget
Forget that being human
Is being unique
But part of a greater thing.
Humans can be cruel
Even not knowing it
Humans can bring sadness
To hide their own.
Maybe the hardest evil
To fight
Is that one
No one sees
Blended in with normality
Hurting another soul
Because they do not know.
Sometimes
I seem to forget
That people forget.
© Isa Lisboa
(Eu)nigma 