E com seus olhos imensos
ele perfurou minha carne.
Eram negros como a noite
e eternos como a imensidão.
Não fiques assim triste, não,
que a vida é longa
e a alegria vem
assim de pouco em quando.
Não deixe que o gozo futuro
seja apenas um eco triste
que não tem alcance
nenhum na terra que você vive hoje.
Apertou-me o braço até quase doer.
Respirei fundo, encarei o fim de tudo
com olhos de quem não tem medo,
tem amor pelas coisas.
Esse abandono de corpo
é só coisa que se passa
se joga por debaixo da cama
e não se lembra mais de coisa alguma.
Eu era feito de pedra,
a pedra mais dura e mais densa do mundo
que se derretia, que se desfazia em
estrelas mais uma vez.
Olha que não vivemos pouco
e foi de tom em tom
que construímos
tudo o que temos hoje.
Se eu fosse cantar o que somos agora,
jogaria na certa um tom de lá maior.
Deixava passar algumas terças menores
só pra não dizer que a vida é perfeita.
Sentados, eu e você, encarando o povo
que só existia em nossas mentes,
tocando a guitarra eu, tu e minha voz desafinada
ríamos e agradecíamos os aplausos.
Sabíamos da delicadeza infinitesimal
que têm certos versos,
sabíamos que a graça das notas
estava nelas mesmas.
Ele nunca reclamara de nada.
Sempre quieto, concisco, sereno.
Talvez guardasse dentro de si mil demônios,
fantasmas mil a se perder de vista.
Mas nada disso vazava pelos seus olhos,
agora cheios de lágrimas.
E eu não podia me conter também
vazava-me por todos os poros e.. existia!
Eu juntei os nós em laços, eu juro que juntei...
Trouxe a avenida pra dentro do meu ser,
fiz a esquina mais uma vez!
Eu vejo mais uma vez as cordas no meu ver...
Podia jurar por dez anos e por mil pessoas,
podia trazer de volta tudo isso aqui.
Mas tudo hoje ainda está presente, olha!
E quem sabe a gente não
rebate por aí em algum canto
surge em pé de vez por todas
e acerta uma em cheio.
Rimos enfim.
Era momento de rir, de alegrar-se.
Era momento de deixar bater o coração
e reger a nobre orquestra do mundo da lua.
E o asfalto naquele dia não dizia nada.
Ficava calado, esperando um outro momento pra entrar.
Erros calados em tetos errados de quem é e continua sendo,
agora com nossos acertos, com mais de uma vontade.
Os raios de sol que banhem por agora
o que não sabemos que será trazido pela maré.
Posto que do futuro não se sabe,
mas no presente se ama.
Caio Mello
31/08/2011
quarta-feira, 31 de agosto de 2011
terça-feira, 30 de agosto de 2011
Passo a passo
Com um esforço tremendo,
equilibrava-se sobre o joelho esquerdo.
O piso de madeira era gelado, mas nem tanto.
Abria a palma,
encaixava bem os dedos entre as almofadas.
Olhava fixamente para um só ponto
e fazia força.
Mas o corpo parecia não querer obedecer.
Era um trabalho descomunal.
A cabeça pesava,
como se estivesse sempre cansada.
Deixou-se cair novamente ao chão, cansado.
Ficou olhando para o teto por um bom tempo.
Não queria ficar piscando demais,
tinha medo de ficar com sono.
Dormir num momento como aquele
seria perder uma batalha.
Coçou a testa com certa dificuldade.
Podia ouvir sons distantes da cozinha.
Pratos, copos, panelas.
Algumas vozes abafadas
corriam soltas.
Colocou-se deitado de bruços.
Apoiou ambas as mãos no chão.
Escorregou ligeiramente, bateu com a
cabeça numa das almofadas.
Deitou-se novamente de bruços.
Conseguiu apoio e sentou-se.
Olhou em volta...
Nenhum apoio.
Arrastou-se até perto do sofá.
Sentou. Agarrou com muita força a beirada do braço do sofá.
Seus joelhos pareciam fraquejar.
Estava com medo, nunca sentira aquilo na vida...
Será que alguma coisa tinha mudado de uns tempos pra cá?
O que se guarda num corpo pelo tempo?
Ficou estático com os joelhos semi-flexionados por um bom tempo.
Enfim, atingiu a flexão total.
Logo em seguida largou a mão do sofá.
Estava radiante! Era agora!
Abriu as duas mãos e estendeu os braços.
Colocou um pé na frente do outro, jogou seu peso adiante.
Quase caiu, mas manteve o equilíbrio!
Mais um pé... Sentia seu pé gordo
afundar no piso frio.
Mais um pé!
Seus joelhos cederam, não aguentava mais o peso...
Caiu nas almofadas, radiante.
Maravilha! Um mundo inteiro a ser descoberto!
Enfim, os primeiros passos...
Caio Mello
30/08/2011
equilibrava-se sobre o joelho esquerdo.
O piso de madeira era gelado, mas nem tanto.
Abria a palma,
encaixava bem os dedos entre as almofadas.
Olhava fixamente para um só ponto
e fazia força.
Mas o corpo parecia não querer obedecer.
Era um trabalho descomunal.
A cabeça pesava,
como se estivesse sempre cansada.
Deixou-se cair novamente ao chão, cansado.
Ficou olhando para o teto por um bom tempo.
Não queria ficar piscando demais,
tinha medo de ficar com sono.
Dormir num momento como aquele
seria perder uma batalha.
Coçou a testa com certa dificuldade.
Podia ouvir sons distantes da cozinha.
Pratos, copos, panelas.
Algumas vozes abafadas
corriam soltas.
Colocou-se deitado de bruços.
Apoiou ambas as mãos no chão.
Escorregou ligeiramente, bateu com a
cabeça numa das almofadas.
Deitou-se novamente de bruços.
Conseguiu apoio e sentou-se.
Olhou em volta...
Nenhum apoio.
Arrastou-se até perto do sofá.
Sentou. Agarrou com muita força a beirada do braço do sofá.
Seus joelhos pareciam fraquejar.
Estava com medo, nunca sentira aquilo na vida...
Será que alguma coisa tinha mudado de uns tempos pra cá?
O que se guarda num corpo pelo tempo?
Ficou estático com os joelhos semi-flexionados por um bom tempo.
Enfim, atingiu a flexão total.
Logo em seguida largou a mão do sofá.
Estava radiante! Era agora!
Abriu as duas mãos e estendeu os braços.
Colocou um pé na frente do outro, jogou seu peso adiante.
Quase caiu, mas manteve o equilíbrio!
Mais um pé... Sentia seu pé gordo
afundar no piso frio.
Mais um pé!
Seus joelhos cederam, não aguentava mais o peso...
Caiu nas almofadas, radiante.
Maravilha! Um mundo inteiro a ser descoberto!
Enfim, os primeiros passos...
Caio Mello
30/08/2011
sábado, 6 de agosto de 2011
(sem título)
Eu não cantarei os versos bonitos
Eu não buscarei o que tem de belo
Porque a beleza virou nossos mitos
Porque a falha quebrou no ver um elo
Não
Eu não vou deixar luz entrar no quarto
Eu não vou mais buscar palavras novas
Porque a noite feiou num triste parto
Porque meus versos há em rasas covas
Não
Eu não vou desdizer o que foi dito
Eu não vou falar outro desafio
Porque meu coração é desaflito
Porque a vida se fez de erros em mil
Não
Eu não tocarei estrelas com dedos
Eu não sei os versos antropofágicos
Porque hoje não sou feito de estrelas
Porque minha tinta acabou com mágicos
Não
As infelicidades abotoaram-me as letras em versos ruins . Estou na roupa apertada, segurando minha própria respiração num ócio assassino que me corrói a cada instante. A cada momento mais, meu corpo vive menos. Sinto-me deteriorar por fora, sinto-me desfazer por dentro. A cada instante, fico mais cinza. Fico menos homem e mais papel. Fico mais máquina do que coração. Fico mais conta do que conto. Não.
Caio Mello
06/08/2011
Eu não buscarei o que tem de belo
Porque a beleza virou nossos mitos
Porque a falha quebrou no ver um elo
Não
Eu não vou deixar luz entrar no quarto
Eu não vou mais buscar palavras novas
Porque a noite feiou num triste parto
Porque meus versos há em rasas covas
Não
Eu não vou desdizer o que foi dito
Eu não vou falar outro desafio
Porque meu coração é desaflito
Porque a vida se fez de erros em mil
Não
Eu não tocarei estrelas com dedos
Eu não sei os versos antropofágicos
Porque hoje não sou feito de estrelas
Porque minha tinta acabou com mágicos
Não
As infelicidades abotoaram-me as letras em versos ruins . Estou na roupa apertada, segurando minha própria respiração num ócio assassino que me corrói a cada instante. A cada momento mais, meu corpo vive menos. Sinto-me deteriorar por fora, sinto-me desfazer por dentro. A cada instante, fico mais cinza. Fico menos homem e mais papel. Fico mais máquina do que coração. Fico mais conta do que conto. Não.
Caio Mello
06/08/2011
Abo
John landed his whisky glass on the table next to him.
Kid, you know shit about life. Look me in the eyes.
There was a man sitting right in front of him. The man was panting. But John had no mercy. He saw no sadness in the man`s eyes. The young man`s name was Abo.
John was an old man with a rough heart. He had lived enough. Maybe, he would say, he had lived long enough. Men like him didn`t like long conversations and didn`t really care about other people`s life. But Abo was a nice kid, he had to admit. John had lived several years without feeling his heart thump. But now he could feel his blood flowing around once more. Abo had in his personality a lot similar to John`s personality as a young man. He sipped another gulp from his whisky.
You know, Abo… When I was your age, things were different. Back then, times were much harder. Now you guys have Facebook, Facetime, Faceshit… Whatever. Everything`s just within the reach of your hands and you still keep complaining about it. You come to me almost crying. What if people saw you crying like a baby in my room just like you are right now?
Sir, I ain`t crying.
Don`t talk to me like that and don`t lie to me. You smell like tears, I would be able to smell it a thousand miles away. You gotta know how to impress people. You`re too shy. Don`t be. You`re too slow. Don`t be.
You keep telling me about your time. Quoting your own words, sir: I don`t give a shit about your time. If you don`t like my words, stop treating me like a child. I`m not so young as you think. There are some aspects in life which are timeless. For example: love. You`ve loved in your time, I`m loving now. You have loved your woman and now she`s dead. Face it. You won`t have another chance to kiss her. But, me, by the other hand, I find myself in a very different situation. Can you remember the feeling of conquering a girl? Can you remember the guilt? The disorder? The pain? That`s a timeless feeling, sir. You could be 150 years old today and you`d feel love the same way you did a long time ago.
John took a deep breath. He stared at the man for a long time. Abo felt that his seconds would last forever in the next few hours. John took another sip from his whisky.
Kid, you got guts to talk `bout my dead wife like you just did. You know the difference between you and me? It`s not about the feeling. Love is always love. And it`ll last forever in our heart. True love is immortal and voluble. The stories I`ve lived fifty, sixty years ago still live inside my heart. In my dreams, I`m a young man living dead emotions. Do you think that`s healthy? Would you be able to live up to your own memory? What`s easier to me? To remember my old times and forget about our world? Or to face the truth that I really won`t be able to kiss my wife ever again? If I accept the present, I might be able to teach someone something sometime. But you`re stupid. Most young people are stupid.
But-
No, no… Let me rephrase what I`ve just said. You`re not stupid. You`re different. I`ve met others who are as old as you. You tend to respect people when you first meet them. But, as you get to know them better, you tend to focus your attention in people`s flaws. So, from that moment on, you start believing yourself again and no one else. So you`re actually not stupid, but arrogant. Your young, brave and shinning truth seems to overcome everything else.
You`re wrong, John-
Don`t call me John.
Sir, you`re wrong. Our meetings have always been based in a single subject and you know it. So you can`t make an abstract image of me. I might be much more than this conversations can show you. And you base your conclusions only on the image that I`ve built of you inside my mind. You`ve never seen me having long conversations with other people. You don`t know my opinions about politics, about science, about arts. If I have ignored your opinions, if I have disagreed with you in most part of our talks is only because I have a reason behind every decision. So, that leads me to the logical answer that the demons you claim to exist inside me are actually inside yourself. You`re letting your old, corrupted past corrupt my present now. But you should know you really don`t have much chance to change things. I love her. You are two generations behind us, you wouldn`t understand what we nowadays call “love”.
Wouldn`t I? But haven`t you just told me I could be 150 years old and I`d feel love the same way I did with my dead wife? So, tomorrow morning, I`ll buy a shovel and I`ll dig again my wife`s grave. I`ll take her dead, skinny body, and I`d try to kiss her. Is that the same love you say you have? Are the dead really dead? Is she alive inside me? When you come to argue with me, you must try hard to keep the coherence. Don`t fucking start telling me a million different arguments just to keep her to yourself. That`s bullshit. You know it.
Sir, you should consider having more respect for your guests.
You are my guest? You?
John stared Abo directly in the eyes. He finished his whisky. Abo didn`t answer him. Abo tried to stand up quickly from his chair, but John held his arm.
Kid, stop being so petulant. Sit your ass back there.
No, John. This conversation is over.
Abo stood up once again. Now he was the one staring at John`s eyes. He thought that, by standing, he would win the discussion. But he was wrong. John wasn`t sad. He was smiling, actually. Abo left the room knowing he would have to come back there soon. John landed his empty glass of whisky with melted ice inside on the table once more. Everything was all right.
Caio Mello
06/08/2011
Kid, you know shit about life. Look me in the eyes.
There was a man sitting right in front of him. The man was panting. But John had no mercy. He saw no sadness in the man`s eyes. The young man`s name was Abo.
John was an old man with a rough heart. He had lived enough. Maybe, he would say, he had lived long enough. Men like him didn`t like long conversations and didn`t really care about other people`s life. But Abo was a nice kid, he had to admit. John had lived several years without feeling his heart thump. But now he could feel his blood flowing around once more. Abo had in his personality a lot similar to John`s personality as a young man. He sipped another gulp from his whisky.
You know, Abo… When I was your age, things were different. Back then, times were much harder. Now you guys have Facebook, Facetime, Faceshit… Whatever. Everything`s just within the reach of your hands and you still keep complaining about it. You come to me almost crying. What if people saw you crying like a baby in my room just like you are right now?
Sir, I ain`t crying.
Don`t talk to me like that and don`t lie to me. You smell like tears, I would be able to smell it a thousand miles away. You gotta know how to impress people. You`re too shy. Don`t be. You`re too slow. Don`t be.
You keep telling me about your time. Quoting your own words, sir: I don`t give a shit about your time. If you don`t like my words, stop treating me like a child. I`m not so young as you think. There are some aspects in life which are timeless. For example: love. You`ve loved in your time, I`m loving now. You have loved your woman and now she`s dead. Face it. You won`t have another chance to kiss her. But, me, by the other hand, I find myself in a very different situation. Can you remember the feeling of conquering a girl? Can you remember the guilt? The disorder? The pain? That`s a timeless feeling, sir. You could be 150 years old today and you`d feel love the same way you did a long time ago.
John took a deep breath. He stared at the man for a long time. Abo felt that his seconds would last forever in the next few hours. John took another sip from his whisky.
Kid, you got guts to talk `bout my dead wife like you just did. You know the difference between you and me? It`s not about the feeling. Love is always love. And it`ll last forever in our heart. True love is immortal and voluble. The stories I`ve lived fifty, sixty years ago still live inside my heart. In my dreams, I`m a young man living dead emotions. Do you think that`s healthy? Would you be able to live up to your own memory? What`s easier to me? To remember my old times and forget about our world? Or to face the truth that I really won`t be able to kiss my wife ever again? If I accept the present, I might be able to teach someone something sometime. But you`re stupid. Most young people are stupid.
But-
No, no… Let me rephrase what I`ve just said. You`re not stupid. You`re different. I`ve met others who are as old as you. You tend to respect people when you first meet them. But, as you get to know them better, you tend to focus your attention in people`s flaws. So, from that moment on, you start believing yourself again and no one else. So you`re actually not stupid, but arrogant. Your young, brave and shinning truth seems to overcome everything else.
You`re wrong, John-
Don`t call me John.
Sir, you`re wrong. Our meetings have always been based in a single subject and you know it. So you can`t make an abstract image of me. I might be much more than this conversations can show you. And you base your conclusions only on the image that I`ve built of you inside my mind. You`ve never seen me having long conversations with other people. You don`t know my opinions about politics, about science, about arts. If I have ignored your opinions, if I have disagreed with you in most part of our talks is only because I have a reason behind every decision. So, that leads me to the logical answer that the demons you claim to exist inside me are actually inside yourself. You`re letting your old, corrupted past corrupt my present now. But you should know you really don`t have much chance to change things. I love her. You are two generations behind us, you wouldn`t understand what we nowadays call “love”.
Wouldn`t I? But haven`t you just told me I could be 150 years old and I`d feel love the same way I did with my dead wife? So, tomorrow morning, I`ll buy a shovel and I`ll dig again my wife`s grave. I`ll take her dead, skinny body, and I`d try to kiss her. Is that the same love you say you have? Are the dead really dead? Is she alive inside me? When you come to argue with me, you must try hard to keep the coherence. Don`t fucking start telling me a million different arguments just to keep her to yourself. That`s bullshit. You know it.
Sir, you should consider having more respect for your guests.
You are my guest? You?
John stared Abo directly in the eyes. He finished his whisky. Abo didn`t answer him. Abo tried to stand up quickly from his chair, but John held his arm.
Kid, stop being so petulant. Sit your ass back there.
No, John. This conversation is over.
Abo stood up once again. Now he was the one staring at John`s eyes. He thought that, by standing, he would win the discussion. But he was wrong. John wasn`t sad. He was smiling, actually. Abo left the room knowing he would have to come back there soon. John landed his empty glass of whisky with melted ice inside on the table once more. Everything was all right.
Caio Mello
06/08/2011
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