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IN THE RHYTHM OF EXISTENCE I sit on the bench in the square and watch the day unfold: the child running, the bird in flight, the sweat dripping in beads from my brow. Alone in an unfamiliar and sweltering place, I find myself. I sleep on the bench, knowing that I will rest here again tomorrow and perhaps the day after. Such are the chapters of my journey, and some hidden part of me savors the vulnerability, the lack, the fragility of it all. As I walk with my heavy, red backpack slung over my shoulders, I reflect on the ways of being. There are three ways to perceive, two ways to feel, and only one way to be. I do not claim this as absolute truth, but as a truth that nourishes, germinates, and transforms, carrying us from one state to another, from liquid to vapor. I receive food from the hands of strangers, silently grateful for those who give without expectation, as I tread up and down the hills. Perhaps my father is not proud of my chosen path, but what pride matters more than that ...

  THE LAST SUNDAY OF MY LIFE Dear friend who reads me, Once more, I invoke your presence, hoping that by channeling your energy, the day will become brighter, dispelling the shadows that hover over the sky I have called life. As I focus on your essence, I reflect on the steps I still have left to climb. A whisper of fear calls to me from the future, and though the path seems familiar, I feel something unforeseen will cross my way. Today, standing atop a mountain, I gaze upon the vastness unveiled before me. And in this pinnacle of clarity, a fervent and strangely delightful yearning to leap into the final flight with this mortal body washes over me. Within me dwells a reverent love for death and a profound respect for life. Yet, my deepest desire is to transcend attachments, gratefully embracing all that fate lays before me. I am ready to welcome both sorrow and joy, for they are the threads that weave the tapestry of existence. I shall not sow hatred, nor political or religious ap...

  A DECLARATION (2020) With Daniel Assunção I gazed at my reflection for countless moments, letting thoughts flow like waves across an inner ocean. Rarely did I long to feel the gift that arose in your presence. For with you, I transcended the mere act of breathing and the solid ground beneath my feet. I found a pause in the cycle of self-denial and disdain as if your essence were a gentle invitation to redemption. Each moment by your side becomes a fragment of an ideal I yearn to manifest. I cannot stray further from life, for my heartbeat has become an offering at the altar of your existence. My body, a terrestrial temple, finds in you a mystery it longs to revere. And though your eyes have never met mine, my soul has already resolved to unveil itself before you, and so I... ...shared the heavens with you... To exist is to breathe you in. My lungs take in your breath and grant me life; you dwell within me. As long as I have memories, our moments will remain enshrined in a sacred,...

LIVING CAN NOT ALWAYS BE RESISTING  I review my body from afar and feel a certain strangeness in not identifying with what I see. My body is not me, my flesh does not belong to me, and, for this reason, I do not step firmly on this ground. If I am not my body, with this wrapping, I reaffirm the darkened side, the senseless coldness, and the restless heart. I am not the mirror that reflects me, I am not what I once imagined, for I kept my distance and burned me by choice, ashen in the multiple colors, conditioning the vase without flowers. By telling you my truth and fleeing from vanity, I distanced myself from all seductive stimuli, darkening within until I became pure cement. Conditioned by time, crushed by the wind, petrified by my own venom. Until the unexpected happens, and something lands upon me, and, slowly, I see my fragments fall, my ivory skin, sculpted by the chaotic and progressive wreckage. "I am on the verge of vanishing," I think as I watch the Sun rise again, ...

  BITTERING THE POEM WITH YOUR SUGAR Mad are those who feel saved, for salvation cannot be eternal. Illusion disturbs the minds of the afflicted, wounding the feet of those who walk inverted. The dome of sickness found the cure and hid it from the rest. Dressed in a darkened veil, at the speed of aimless darkness. Today the mad one is the one who represses, opening their arms to the wind, flying like one who never touches the ground. Saying this and slowly losing, tasting without commitment the fleetingness and truth of every moment lived. I spit on the soil of your chest, with wet clay I cover your lips with a kiss. And for freeing you from servitude, now I am the one in danger, for I tamed the lion and released the sheep into the pasture of the dual world, in the celestial game seeking what is real.

LOVING AS A BROTHER I wrote my last poem, certain that it won’t be the last. I gave you my last hug, knowing I’d touch your body for the last time, but I’d embrace your soul again. I gathered from the ground my scattered pieces, the sorrow of leaving, but the comfort of feeling your support. I love you like a brother, I desire you like a mother, and I want you with all the loose fragments of your heart. I see stars in the sky, so distant yet so close to me. And I see you by my side, knowing that your death won’t be your end. I scatter the final seeds, so they may grow in your body and bloom in your mind. Because I know you are free and deserve the infinite radiance. You were never mine, neither your body nor my goodbye. You have nothing because nothing binds you; you have everything by holding an innocent heart. I will love you in every form of life, I will find you in my DNA. For you are blood of my blood and child of my Father. I’ll say goodbye at the right time, knowing life is but ...

  REDISCOVERING THE ESSENCE OF THE DIVINE I have found the strength needed to keep on existing. I speak of something simple, as I repeat it to my friends. Within the prevailing conditions, within circumstances that do not define us, I maintain a certain lightness in facing the weariness of my life. I have a healthy body, able to move, have an open mind, and focus on the right thinking. For I do not believe that living is resistance; even as I see resistance, I also see surrender and acceptance, for the struggle is internal and personal, and the gain is collective and spiritual. I will keep existing until time calls me to leave. My task is to reflect and evolve, to learn and teach, to absorb and let flow. Oh, my dear friend, we are traveling toward unknown directions for those who keep their eyes covered, yet decipherable to those who feel beyond the thick veil. The mountains surrounding me are signs of new events, and within this unique and singular time, my body too lives in the p...

OBSERVING THE WAVES OF THE MIND In my mind, I started a war with armor so subtle that a light breeze of wind and a spark of golden sun melts it all, converts it all. I had a child’s dream, that made me see with the eyes of an adult: open to the vision of the breadth of my small world. I grew indifferent to myself, seeing the sigh that follows fear and the false sense of not feeling whole. I am small but not defenseless. I walk alone, yet follow the breath caught in every wall, crushing its own desire like one who bleeds the brow and forgets that death is a kiss. I spoke into the ears of those who hear me: keep me by your side, until the candle goes out; but feel the fire burning within, consuming its own element. For I asked the gods for permission to walk in a world of giants, like an ant aware of its strength and the weight it bears upon its shoulders. I touch the earth as one who listens, but I soar like one who dreams in freefall, suspended between who I was and who I am, an echo t...

LOOSE VERSES TO THE WIND  I began an event with this pencil, I wrote my testament. I saw the saint bow down and the evil drawback, but I cannot come close. I went calmly, arriving with the medal and the spark burning throughout the night. I traced a path between light and darkness, where shadow is a mirror and the word, a prayer. But when I touched the invisible, silence drowned me. I unveiled the unknowable, and I did not lose who I am. I continue describing what still burns within me, sailing between worlds of mystery and Truth. Upon returning from youth, I will reach the fulfillment as I bid farewell to vanity. Seeing my world through my own vision, sealing this event as I hear the chords of Union. Don’t shout from afar, but listen to me closely. Because I see in your hands the cure and your remedy. For I cast my verses to the wind, and time revealed to me the open game, a forgotten proof of love.

TO THE JASMINE FLOWER My sweet jasmine flower, I come to you, thinking of you and letting your fragrance flow. To the thorns that bled my hands, I place the red rose at the center of my heart. To innocent love, to imminent accident and marked memory: I pay heed to all that I lack. For to arrive one must depart, and to transform myself I must roar within. Planting in the sacred soil, the true rose, of purely red hue, with blood watering your trail. Leaving parts of me along your path, and carrying with me the memory of being vulnerable, lying on the ground of your asphalt. Ah, my sweet jasmine flower, when I sense your perfume, I will know my end has come and I will gently follow you. 

FIRST SUNDAY OF NOVEMBER I write this letter to friends that common eyes cannot see, who circle my head, transcending the questionable essence of what is seen and felt, as I experience the end of yet another season, with emotions facing the duality of life and the illusion of what can truly die. I maintain a certain firmness in my unsteady steps, for part of me knows exactly where it wants to go, where the material condition draws me, holds me, and purges me. All my confessions are like wide-open books and soil that absorbs water, moistening the walls of an open cage. I type my sentences in rhymed phrases, with words that bind us. Because deep down, we know how everything ends, and the inevitable sense of loss makes us turn to the tangible embrace of Mother Nature. On this Sunday morning, I wake up feeling alone, but the wind entering through the window and softly touching my skin awakens me from the dream, wrapping me in the angels' prism. I observe how the night was followed by d...

  QUESTIONED BEFORE DEATH I was gazing at the mountain’s peak, taking notes, scribbling on rocks. Expanding my being until reaching you. I feel everything happen, watching the seed sprout and the flower forget itself. I approach a window, see a suffering soul and death waiting, from afar I see the end of spring. They summon me in the city; I appear at dusk, and like one not expected, I come bringing peace and feeding the candle’s wick. — Once more, here I see you, in bed you ache, and your body is afraid. — I see that mourning is alive in you, at the appointed hour, you’ll bid farewell to your friends. — Now listen and prepare yourself, death approaches, but life does not stop. — You have little, but you lack not much, today you’ll make your passage and leave upon the earth, this flesh and this baggage. — Listen to the song flowing like water, hear the emanation freezing your body, slowing your heart and introducing into your soul the luminous portal. I understood my sentence and d...