Foi escrita em Agosto do ano passado (!!) nas costas de um programa de actividades da Gulbenkian, depois de uma visita à exposição Fronteiras (de Arte Africana Contemporânea). Aqui fica, para não a perder.
The Urban Trap
Heavy breathing.
Paradise lost.
Faux-pas.
Bon sauvage.
Romantic longings.
All the myths are broken.
Nowhere else to go.
Mind trap.
No beliefs. No goals. No solutions. No aim. No point.
Overload.
Damaged.
Critic.
Catatonic.
Gone.
Or not?
I'm tired of dieing while not dieing.
Tired of this white light.
Acepsia.
Inaction.
Void.
I am an African.
Color.
Laughter.
Heat.
Mess.
Ochre dirt.
Teal blue and rust.
Sand and Sun.
Strength and blood.
I'm an African without Africa.
No craddle.
No ground.
No source.
No belonging.
Yet I'm alive,
and pumping,
and kicking,
and steaming,
and lost.
The absence of reasoning
trapped in a thought.
A life with no body
absurdly living in a dead world.
The Urban Trap
Heavy breathing.
Paradise lost.
Faux-pas.
Bon sauvage.
Romantic longings.
All the myths are broken.
Nowhere else to go.
Mind trap.
No beliefs. No goals. No solutions. No aim. No point.
Overload.
Damaged.
Critic.
Catatonic.
Gone.
Or not?
I'm tired of dieing while not dieing.
Tired of this white light.
Acepsia.
Inaction.
Void.
I am an African.
Color.
Laughter.
Heat.
Mess.
Ochre dirt.
Teal blue and rust.
Sand and Sun.
Strength and blood.
I'm an African without Africa.
No craddle.
No ground.
No source.
No belonging.
Yet I'm alive,
and pumping,
and kicking,
and steaming,
and lost.
The absence of reasoning
trapped in a thought.
A life with no body
absurdly living in a dead world.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário