Introduction

Human beings so fragile

As infants of their own existence.

Way longer ago

Fear was cold

Bad weather?

A reason to just fold

War meant no deal

Gods meant just power

Something one can’t control nor move

Something we keep searching for

But are plenty of. Yes.

Today? Purity, innocence

Fragility, inability.

Skills are mastery

But mastery, a feeling.

Like no one else could express

The shape of their own heart

That beats at the peace of a chess

Slow, like a mess, yes, but who never knows where to go next

A game created

Where no one could lie

And scams were to be avoided

Why is that? Because games are not meant to be played

But to reach people who need respect for their challenges

To have fun? No, to feel blessed about That challenge.

But that story is not like a mutable seed that we can always try to improve

Nor like innocent birds that can’t defeat but could eat.

It’s a story of people who honored their tribes

Cause those games once pleased their lives.

But today? Sedentary cravers.

Lazy people who feel no phase, 

Who shut up a mouth with no reason, nor an ending phrase.

Cowards. They split day like a maze.

They cut their meat like crazy;

Without reason, without a chase.

Cause oh they feel so good

At places where it makes sense

Not for the reason, not for the smell

For the seek of  feeling peace that we never had

Because they attempt to pursue something beyond their own

Grooves meaning nothing

Cause they sound is just as cool

As dogs diving deep in a pool 

where they can’t survive underneath 

Something so null

Peace feeling noisy

Turtles feeling drowned

Trying to get something as “essential” as pure rice

But nothing like their fat faces, and their flat feet

That looks like a self pride of their ignorance, 

Of big heads and small hats

Unmatched sizes that looks like an offense

To someone who just wanted to accept

The fact that we are who we are

And in the end, we can’t be different, we can’t be better

In a way that respect is not greater than our own matter.

Não prometo horizontes infinitos,
apenas o caminho que se abre aos seus ouvidos.
Não garanto dias para sempre,
apenas a distância do que sente.

Não importa quantos anos caberão na sua história,
mas o quanto do mundo caberá, em um dia de vitória.
Há vidas longas que não saem do lugar,
e jornadas breves, que atravessam continentes sem o mar.

De onde você está,
o futuro talvez pareça estreito.
Mas cada passo é uma ruptura
com o que antes parecia leito.

Não importa quão intensa será a experiência,
se ela permanece presa ao mesmo chão.
Importa o desvio,
a curva improvável de se ir além sem ter razão.

O número pode ser pequeno,
a distância pode parecer modesta,
mas ainda assim, um deslocamento real
é maior que o silêncio que me resta.

E se um dia perguntarem
quanto tempo durou a sua travessia,
que a resposta não seja em anos,
mas em poesia.