The strange fulfilment found

In loving her is gone — today,

It’s just me

Searching for a valid reason to

Not let go of everything

After months without a glance of her blue eyes


Visions of the past;

The way I could never accept

The truth in my denial — someday,

I’d forget why

Continue reading


Your Eyes

Freedom, the word that burns across the white land

Of my dreams. But it is too late.

No matter how loud I scream,

This beautiful freedom teases and hides


In your horizon — the beast in the depths

Of your eyes


Vinícius S. Pessoa

Translated (and slightly altered) by Lira

Write Me A Poem

Love poems worn out by my cynicism,

Four biographies and an Oscar Wilde.

Éluard and a few dead gods —

All my books

Beaten, thrown to the ground.

For a while, I am done

Revisiting lines I know way too well

After sleepless nights and paper cuts.

My fingerprint-memories are on every page


I’d ask you for verses, but you’re out

Under the lights of an unknown realm

Enjoying all the things I’ve taught myself

How to hate


After a dream or two, in the morning,

Write me a poem about anything you like

Before I lie and say

I didn’t even miss you tonight



Post January Reality

Lovers in my bed and career goals

Were plans for the year, but then 

I went back to being me —

Sitting alone in a room, broke,

Saving coins and pennies.

Always on my own

Feeding stray cats, 

Wondering where I’ll be when I’m 30

In the distance of half a decade



Cruel Truth

Eternity lasted for about eight days.

Everything built by love

Inconsistency can break


Today, we love.

Tomorrow, we forget —

All kinds of joy and pain 

Are found and lost in a woman’s kiss


Florbela Espanca

(Verdades Cruéis)

Translated and completely modified by Lira. 

Maybe this is actually my own version, not a translation.

Cheap Bedtime Existentialism

When asked if you would pick cake or death,

Just go for the sweetest one.

I’d finish a piece and an Espresso

While waiting for the gates of Hell to open for me.

Fifteen years in the future, and maybe

I’ll get both and die from diabetes

After cursing god and regretting it

During every New Year’s Eve spent alone


Camus would understand the value 

Of a good cup of caffeine. Even a well planned 

Suicide can wait.

Marriage, eventually, will only bring sorrow…

Yet my heart

Has made me a bitter bachelorette


Will I live long enough to bring myself

To ever pray again?

If god is real

When will he send me away to where

No light can ever reach?