Regresso

I

 

Quero sentir novamente.

Sem serifa, só escrevendo.

E o que se sente;

O que vai havendo,

Sem censura do presente,

Quer escrever sem innuendo.

 

Passar pela casa dos meus pais

Que me viu crescer;

E as paredes sentimentais

Guardam promessas recentes

Que se calhar eram permanentes;

Faz-me andar para a frente

Num mundo que me sinto diferente.

 

A música que escutava.

A métrica que obedecia.

O trabalho que me prendia.

Quem eu outrora amava.

 

Nem o sinto.

 

Pois vamos continuar

Para o infinito;
Lírico, como é amar,

Real, como construir.

 

O sorriso olhado,
Envolto de tias,

Descrito por padres,

Capturado em fotografias...

Estou muito ocupado.

 

II 

 

Continua a realeza na cidade principal.

Podem invadir todo o campo

E desconfiarem do final.

Mas se há pedido ao santo

É que não entrem no palácio,

Que o seu sítio permaneça.

Por inércia, um novo ciclo começa. 

Com os soldados que gritam

A uma bala desconhecida,

Afronta novamente a ida...

Para a capital

Com medo da capital

Sem capital

Pode ser capital. 

Uma frase de Fernando Pessoa de que me lembrei hoje

“To narrate is to create, for living is just being lived.”

Fernando Pessoa (Book of Disquiet)

How many times have you felt the urge to tell a story? To capture a moment, a thought, or a feeling, and give it shape through words? I’d guess most of us have been there, while staring at a blank page or screen, thinking “One day, I’ll write something. One day, I’ll have something to write about, something that feels good.” 

I wrote in the past. Writing used to feel simpler. Before the absurd massification of internet media became such a central part of our lives, people weren’t as concerned about being judged or criticized for what they put out there. I mean, sharing thoughts is at an all time high, and some people seem to thrive in controversy, but for those who search for meaning within words, the internet can be a very unforgiving place. 

Today, it’s easier than ever for anyone to write something and share it instantly on Reddit, Facebook or whatever. Still, I believe we’re all storytellers, not necessarily of a narrative, ideology or structured composition, but of just words. Every photo we take, every conversation we have, every moment we share with others, every thought we have while busy - these are stories in the making, waiting to be written. As in, today I didn't think about when I was younger; I longed for the time when becoming invincible was just waking up on the next day. 

So what’s stopping you? Grab that pen. Open that laptop. Start typing. Remember that your preferred blogging platform won't be there forever, there's AI bots consuming your content now and you are finite. Then start writing (again).