He’s still here with his
Hands and fingers of iron,
His demonic voice;
The ugly, cavernous snarl
Rising early in the small hall of the
My neck… Tightened. Long scarves and
Words that I will not forget.
Tears fall down like heavy blows
Iron that hurts; iron of the damned ones —
Inside myself I hung sideways
Because I was a fish, caught…
And airless. I struggled under the shadow of
I heard someone say that behind him they could see
The sun …
I freeze in my shell. The door trembles.
I hear the footsteps, and I already know
PS. Read the original version in Portuguese here (with a few small differences)
I wrote this poem a few years ago, probably in 2013. My translation is pretty poor, and I apologize (to?) for how loose and inaccurate it is. Although my original poem was pretty badly written, I guess it shows raw emotion, so I decided that I should post it.