Confessions 2

Confessions 2

It all started with the postman

and his deliverable ideas:

an Eurasian junction

blended in the salt of wisdom

muddy wrinkles as exuberant as

sandal

and a Buddha

suspended from belief

meditating through my self

or neck, erroneously

balancing its serenity at

Sunday bollywood matinees

parched behind the big black screen

watching tigers evaporate tigers, elephants

loving women in their beautiful cholis

naked bellies and saris

of course there was my choice

before

[the postman never knew] my father

when I took the tram

when I stood by the basilica

when I sat hours listening

to terrible technical lectures

to the river in a wide disgorgement

to the mercury scale boiling

I was not thinking of him but

he was there with his ideas

absorbing my acts towards this

zest junction

Then the postman never came back

again

he disappeared

the tram, the basilica, the hours

became empty

there was no river, no lectures, no boiling

Traceless, feeble

I freed the tigers, the elephants, the women

I keep the letters in my life case

José Coelho, 2014