Valerians
Do not Migrate
Valerians,
by the late-afternoon, shake
The
breeze descends from the mountain
looking
for its heat. Children
by
the roadside, on a mattress, jump
and
their voices confuse themselves
In
the unrest of trees
the
suggestion of an existence is born
without
order -
one
that cares and regulates -
of
a forgotten transit system
where
sulfuric nausea
governs
At
the water's edge a Swiss watch
Keeps
track of time
On
a garden's bench
Important
things are said:
take
good care of the kids and of you
do
not lose hope
those
days will come back
be
strong and fight while
the
sun - or the moon - shine
The
soul, it purges itself
with
each step in the direction
-
possible, unique -
whereas
fast and short is the moment
in
which the eyes unravel
the
dilemma – then we must keep it in mind
memorize
it, give it bed and den -
soon
the thirst drenches tongues and tights
dirty
fingers from blood and despair
[They
taper and make beliefs passable!]
The
priceless will to be raises dust
from
the earth. The valerians, indifferent, breathe
get
stiffen and prepare to sleep
Children
no longer jump, their pubescent stares fix
on
the horizon, an immaterial
future,
maybe just a vision
of
a fine recent past.
©
2017, José Coelho
