quarta-feira, 17 de setembro de 2014

Brother:
You've made a long journey! Your last one.
I didn't say goodbye to you, it was not possible.
I'll live, with the sadness of not giving you the last kiss in life, but sadder is to know that physically I'll not see you anymore.
Sad is, not be able to share  with you , thoughts, confidences and events of our daily lives.
Sad is, not to be able to hear your voice quieting my mind and my heart in difficult times.

You'll know, Where you are, that I loved you so much and that you'll do me a great lack.  I'm certain, that now in peace, you'll take care of me wile I continue my way in this ephemeral passage in the world.

Goodbye my dear Brother ,up to one day...
No estés lejos de mi un solo dia, porque como,
porque, no sé decirlo, es largo el dia,
y te estaré esperando como en las estaciones
cuando en alguna parte se durmieran los trenes.

No te vayas por una hora porque entonces
en esa hora se juntan las gotas del desvelo
y tal vez todo el humo que anda buscando casa
venga matar aún mi corazón perdido.

Ay que no se quebrante tu silhueta en la arena,
ay que no vuelen tus párpados en la ausência:
No te vayas por un minuto, bienamado,
porque en ese minuto te habrás ido tan lejos
que yo cruzaré toda la tierra perguntando
si volverás o si me dejarás moriendo

Pablo Neruda

terça-feira, 16 de setembro de 2014

Today is not a day to talk about love...
Better, it is a day to speack about a love that never made me crawl or suffer.
A love that I didn't need to beg.
Borned with me, borned with you in our mother's womb, grew with us and never feltered throughout these 61 years  of your life, (that you will do, if  God still permits). How I love you? As I love life. Your place in my heart is so deep and special that you shall be there always saved until the end of my life.
God help you my dear brother and gave you peace in you illness,

quinta-feira, 4 de setembro de 2014

O Rosário


Amor, as horas que passei contigo
são contas enfiadas uma a uma,
e uma a uma as passo nos meus dedos
como um rosário.

Cada hora é uma conta, cada conta
oração que as saudades dulcifica;
mas se o rosário rezo, lá no fim
surge uma cruz!

Ó lembrança que fere e nos consola,
àrido ganho, amara perda... Os lábios
em cada conta eu ponho, e hei-de beijar
a cruz também

Florence Barclay