A photo at the Zoo of Lisbon, 12th March 2020
There is the frustration of running but never coming.
The castration of creation asking for forgiveness.
The sudden impulse to not want to be in vain.
The sudden braking of who wants to lie down.
There is the inconsistency of loving life and death,
Whom by Destiny accepts such luck
And still the huge flower of the Alentejo
And the absence of those I no longer see.
But there is still the power of words
The strength of the spring that springs in summer
And the red blood red of my heart.
And there is the exchange of suffering for suffering
Through the eternal dawn, reborn,
Of whom it is for so long to write ...