Poems

Poem for so many things

poetry for this and that
rhyme of foolish things
desire to speak
what is not actually done
it is not the reason that justifies the poet,
it is the work, if it is unique, authentic…
To love is not art or pretense.

Through the work one knows its author
the lack of care for the language
the negligence with the word
the exaggeration in adjectives
are not reasons to represent something simple
like the beauty of the world
which is found in both sexes.

Poetry is best expressed in symbols
in the subtlety of those who desire and do not do
in the curve of the road that scares
in the gaze of the free and sharp woman.

Poem 2

Sitting at the corner of the world,
I see men passing by, generation after generation,
In this vast coliseum,
Where shadows are cruel tormentors.

They laugh and revel,
In human tragedy,
An endless dance,
On this stage of despair and anguish.

Voices echo, hollow,
In a desolation’s echo,
Every step, a silent cry,
Every sigh, a lament in the dark.

Time unfolds, relentless,
Like a thread unraveling,
And men continue their journey,
Without destination, without direction, without hope.

In the coliseum of existence,
Tragedy is the only constant,
And the weary eyes of spectators,
Reflect the weight of an eternal hopelessness.

By Evan do Carmo