sábado, 17 de agosto de 2013

Growing Sick

I need a little sex, a little poetry.
I need your arms around me,
I need your time to find me,
I need so much to die for.

The beast screamed at me,
The eyes were mine,
Ravaged skin.
Get in the line
For the night wants to begin.

A midnight train howling,
The passengers were afraid to die,
They bled their hearts out,
What’s gonna happen?!
I don’t know,
I don’t wanna make part of it.

The story continued to unravel,
All the men and women
Fucked until morning.
Their bodies sweating,
Their cocks and cunts falling
Into the eternal dreams.

And words were written,
People were gone
To a sickening place.

But truth was never really told,
We were very ashamed
When we saw ourselves growing old.


A Brief Journey to the Self

A man went down and traveled the world,
He asked his fellow humans
About happiness and freedom;
What is happiness?
What is freedom?

The faces of the people,
Hidden with shame,
Couldn't answer properly.

There was a woman who said that
We are bound to our faith.
She must have been blind!
Faith is a concept created by Man
To make us think we’ll never be in control,
That we are destined to live
Without doing anything personal about it.

Then, a man heard this, many thousands of miles away,
And told me we are the ones
Who make our destiny.
He must have been a fool, too,
Travelling across the world
Just to tell me words
I already knew.

But I was interested in his thoughts,
He captivated my mind,
He was a very intelligent man,
Like I may be, in a different way,
I’m sensitive, a seductive and dangerous human being.


Sleepless Lover

In a sleepless night,
I dwell with you
In my most genuine thoughts;
The shining and pure glance of my desires,
Brought me a meaningful and confusing
State of mind.

As I take another warm and
Philosophical drink,
I think I may be confused,
But I can also be lighthearted,
Fond of you, as I know I am –
And have been for some time,
Secretly shrunken, with nothing to know
Or say.

There is a reason for why
I imagine and pursue happiness,
Thrill and passion
With who’s not physically around:
Common things and people
Always manage to lack understanding
For the strange actions and words
Which I care for and live for.

But you are not common,
No. You are someone who thrills me,
Who makes me feel glad and erotic,
Who has or might have the same wish than I;
Can you feel me?
Do you hear the deep endings of my soul?
Do you see what the world has written for you?

Now, tell me your notion of pleasure,
Is it the same as mine, dear?
Later; tell me you want my enduring soul,
And human body,
As much as I crave your presence.
And I should light up
To celebrate this tragic and poetic ceremony,
That lies in the auditorium of my mind.

Look into my eyes,
Fall into my soul;
Am I too much of a fool,
To be dreaming of you?
I’m afraid of it.


domingo, 11 de agosto de 2013

No Time Anymore

May the youth be real
May the roots unfold
Up in the sky with thrill
These dreams I was told
And there should be truth
In our minds we think
What is right and wrong
What is love and hate

But there is no time anymore
No time to be logical
When the world is philosophical

The days will come
When we seek real beauty
The pain will be gone
Our bodies are honest nudity
We reach for the answers
In a society lacking pleasures
And nobody knows we’re strangers
Everybody thinks we‘re lovers

There is no time anymore
No time to be logical
When the world is philosophical

Comforting my life with poetry
Feeling a strange emotion
I don’t know if it’s worthy
But this is all I have in motion
And people don’t always understand
This is my only way to stand
In equality and healing of the self
I can finally throw away this mad feeling

And there is no time anymore
No time to be logical
When the world is philosophical
No, no time anymore
When these passions are illogical

Ricardo Rodrigues

sábado, 10 de agosto de 2013

The Cruel Man

A loud criminal awoke the city with screams.
A dangerous and cruelly romantic man
explores the hearts of women,
- were they real? He asked.

The rich man went back to his grave,
and took with him the love for dreams.

Everything became clear,
no more illusions.
Purity and silence.
Don’t wake me.

I want everything else.
I want your fears,
I want your passions.
I want the world to know.

Ricardo Rodrigues

Incoerências de um estranho

O nosso destino é incerto.
Para onde vamos?
Onde queremos ir?

Não conhecemos os desejos da alma,
Dançamos ao ritmo da morte,
Glorificamos o que nos importa:
Tecidos velhos,
Caras desconhecidas,
Canções que nos oferecem viagens no tempo
Apenas com as vibrações do poeta no estúdio,
No palco e na outra dimensão –a sua mente.

Não tenho a certeza para quem escrevo.
Escrevo para alguém?
Se és a pessoa ou o sonho para quem escrevo,
Identifica-te! Mostra-me a tua morte,
Deixa-me apreciar a tua vida.

Meu velho amigo, onde estás?
O teu destino era incerto,
Avisei-te do que poderia acontecer,
No entanto não me ouviste.
Mas agora já não importa,
Onde estás?

(Estou aqui, olha para o espelho da vida que já não tens.
Vem até mim como se sentisses a minha falta,
Como se sentisses prazer ao ouvir as minhas palavras incoerentes,
Finge por agora.)

Vem até mim como se sentisses a minha falta,
Como se quisesses ouvir as minhas palavras incoerentes.

Pela primeira vez sinto algo fora do comum;
É um animal que se apodera do meu espírito,
Uma crueldade nos meus pensamentos,
Um desejo para descrever o que não sei.

Quero dançar com o desconhecido,
Quero que adorem a incoerência de um estranho,
Quero que me queiram – e que não me queiram –
Mas será a confusão um sentimento demasiado confuso,
Para quem gosta do que vê sem se questionar
Sobre a natureza do que aparenta ser real?

Aparência. É isso.
Talvez eu deva ser aparente, vazio,
Sem questionar a realidade.
Talvez, assim, a coerência sustentasse a minha vida.
Tornar-me-ia a base da ignorância,
Seria mais um sem realmente ser,
Dedicar-me-ia à conformidade de simplesmente existir.
Mas eu não pretendo existir,
Viver? Sim, muito!
Quero tanto viver que até sonho com a morte,
E não me lembro dela.

Ricardo Rodrigues

Two Nights

Last night I thought
I could die
I saw the coldest man cry
He tried to hide
And from the ashes he was born
He knew he could live high
With many tries
He had finally succeeded
What my mind had believed

Tonight I think
I’m alive
And ask myself
Where is that man who survived?
He had gone by
But did he say goodbye?

And this is how the first two nights began
With a deep focus of the mind
A silent movement in the dawn
And that’s when I realized
He never really survived
I buried him alive.

Ricardo Rodrigues

Pedido Inesperado

Enquanto lhe escrevia,
Eu tinha a tendência de assobiar,
Ao ritmo da fluência dos meus pensamentos,
E ela perguntava-me: ‘escrevias-me?
Eu pegava na folha, e sem identidade,
Escreveria o que ela desejava ler;
Por um sentimental, um selvagem inspirado,
E ela morria de tanto mistério inacabado.

É simples de escrever,
Descrever a sua arte de ser,
Mas porque se tem de explicar
A questão que se sente?
As palavras são malícia num acto,
Que me valeria ser exacto,
Se o Mundo não é abstracto?

E mais não te digo,
Já sabes o que diria,
E nada se ganhava, e nada se perdia.

Ricardo Rodrigues