the story of the turtle

Now is over. The sea is almost gone, the moon is over the hills.
Green leaves in rectangular magnitudes cover the mist of my arms around you.
The sun is burning somewhere, someone is birthing right now and Ive never seen my kids, no longer.

Kind of a broken tooth, kind of a king, kind of a nothing. Me, me, and always me. I AM THE GOLDEN TORTOISE. Feed me for the sake of your own goodness. Shake yourself, move your inner feelings as you escape from your worse nightmares.
Be the rice of what my bed is made from, and follow the path of what is no longer there.

Oh golden egg, oh lord, you the carrier of the sacred sword, may your mercy upon them provides the peace that everyone is claiming. Oh lord, upon thee are my best dreams, I am not worthy of you hand on my existence.

Oh magnificent, embrace me with your glory, with your holy caress, be the light of the cry of the baby you were.

Theres is nothing but me, there is nothing without me. Now is the past of unpredictable fears, lets celebrate the joyful age.

Om shanti.

A beautiful cloud

Tell me your name, I can't hear you

Yes, I did forget it, it is not strange that..., it is not strange that...

Yes, I'm really sad today, but it's usual

Yes, I'm happy today, it's usual too

Tell me how much you have cried, I can hear you, life's a crazy chick, you know...

Tell me how much you forgot, so we can rembember things together

Just happens, oblivion is that way, you know... like those tiny clouds that suddenly...

I did love you, yes, it could be, But, do you know a thing about it? One never stops loving, just make up nice excuses.

What? Yes, it could be, nights are many and so short...are not enough at all

I would have wanted more, surely, morning do not compensate the hours, what a nice sun, however.

I believe you, yes, that happens too, like that time when we made that promise to each other, Do you remember?

Today is so far that I just forgot that, tell your name again that I remember I've loved you, and I've lied about it, because one make up excuses, because the oblivion and those tiny clouds, and the dog I had, what a good boy...

Tomorrow you'll know a thing, tomorrow you'll know nothing, that maybe, yes, I don't know, I don't remember, but, those clouds, How nice they are, Aren't they?

It's not strange, no, it would have been nice, for sure, yes, and your kids and the beautiful baby that already have her own kids, what a beauty, What's her name? .. I just forgot that, yesterday I talked about her with my brother..yes, he doesn't talk as much as he used to, he sleeps all the time, poor of him.

You know I forget things, you know that every afternoon from this window... I can see the day as a new one, that has its good side... even when I forget your face and the new white hair, you make me happy as much as those tiny clouds.. everyday

Good morning beautiful lady, What's your name?

Say nothing

Say nothing.
Concentrate sight in a lemon slice, or a glass.
Say nothing.
Listen to the noises without paying attention.
Appreciate colors as flashing spots of a day that you couldn't recite from memory.
Say nothing.
Walking alone beneath the lights of a city that much knows about stories as yours.
And you don't avoid looking at that mocking face upon those whom you assume are outside, and are another thing but you.
Say nothing.
Life concentrate in your eyes, in your skin, in every breath.
And words are shapes and colors, a sensation visited many times with a different mood, with the eyes of the child you were and the strength of the man you want to be.
And you say nothing, because sometimes the important things are hidden.

Motivation

And a bed of rice was weaved,

suddenly there was no need to sleep.

Laying in the poetry

And night in exchange for \

I return.

I pull the burden of \

It tires me out.

And your name in exchange for\

... I escape.

I suspect about an ivention

... It fed me up.

I can't cope with anynthing else, but \

It comes.

I don´t reach your \

Is hiding itself.

Today, I cannot

... talk with you.

And my name is the same as yours.

My name is not the same as yesterday

What's your name, where are you from?.
So you listen and answer, there's no need of anything else, and that is the more striking thing.
What for?.
Certain manner profoundness is needless, what's your name, I don´t really know.
And you see an insect by the side of another, and you reconsider the idea of simplicity, and which was so usual in your world suddenly seems to be really stupid to you, that forgotten contempt for the lack of belonging to a group, that subcutaneous aggression that cities pervaded into us.
All of a sudden you're sharing a meal with strange people with strange and different languages, and you feel so good as if you were born there, and a drum and the capoeira vocal rhythm pervade those ears so greedy of new sounds, and the far insects take communion with that rhythm which devastates all possible tension, you cannot do anything else but to give yourself to the music, and the other instruments follow the dance.
Capoeira.
You're the biggest thing, and you have everything, without having anything, what matters, nothing is needed at the moment.
The most tasteful fish in your entire life, the best friends you could have for one music night and no more words, there is night outside, a huge jungle blends in with those stars hidden behind the hill, and you know that tomorrow will be another day.
What's your name, and the man of the city that you are already don't know what to answer, you don' t know if you're the name who that paper claims or if you will have a new one, which you must win demonstrating you are able to return to nature, to that origin you forgot a long time ago.
And your feet recognize new movements while climbing the hillside, your body recognize itself in knowing of something never trained, as if you were in essence another one, an ancient man with the name given by the city. And you hold on to some branches avoiding the fall, with such tv character's reflexes, and you see more insects than inside a whole encyclopedia.
You are progressively forgetting your name.
You start to believe we're made of a different mud, that city blinds and forces us to train less than we can really do, as you see your wounds are neither so much as you believed, nor so grave; you're still alive and strong, and the sky is blending into another color, even though it is not the same than yesterday.
You remember the man on the moon, and think we still haven't conquered the earth.
You think about the unexplainable nature of many things, so antique and close at the same time that they seems to own a completely forgotten code.
And your name lacks of sense, you don't have need of naming things any more, what matters, nothing is needed at the moment.