Stubborn tears, they never come —

There are nights

When they deny themselves;


Supposed to be stormy


And outside

The night falls dry

And warm,

Not knowing that we have a desert





Not a “poem” again, I guess. Just a random, loneliness fueled thought I transformed into one. Translated from one my posts in Portuguese (2nd blog).


You made everything so impure,

And I am hurting —

Writing without a second thought;

From an open heart

I speak

Leaving my secret words



I know your heart is still heavier than 

All the painful words I heard 

From your lips.

Leave me

In my made-up indifference


Walking back home,

Chasing white clouds

That we just can’t reach. 

I remember

The joys of being lighthearted

And smiling your way

Just because I wanted to —

Let my love grow again,

And my jealousy

Drain every drop of my life




I am no god

To carry this world on my back.

I will stop holding up the heavens

For all your saints and little cherubs



Atlas revisited – June​ 18

From The Fields Of Sleep

In the desert of insomnia, hands

Sadly wave goodbyes.

Hands in gloves and rings

Announce the end of your

Ephemeral matter.

From the fields of sleep 

The same starry hand calls me —

I have tried to reach you,

But my flesh doesn’t let me go.

While the body lasts,

I’m between loss and the dream of finding you


Astrid Cabral / slightly altered by Lira


No more dreams of strange colors,

Or nights of trust and fever


The Cupid’s bow, the arrow like


The boiling red

Underneath the skin.


Left behind in black and white

And now I am free to leave




Dreaming away

As I lie down by the lake,

In front of the city lights

When the breeze is blowing

And the heart is calm



Sickly Romantic (But Only Before Bed)

I thought I’d never remember

The shade of blue in her eyes,

But her face came to me smiling

In the memories I thought

I had left behind.

Tomorrow morning

I won’t remember you anymore,

But the morning sky

Will leave me sad

And wondering what the hell

I have been missing




I’m always out of ideas for titles. I usually solve the problem by picking a line from the poem, but sometimes I’ll just read it again and think “okay, what will I think about myself/that time when I read this again next month/year? …Ah, I’ll probably think THIS. Okay, that’s a smart title. Or maybe not. Anyway…”

I may change it later. We will see. Off to bed now!


The dark circles under my eyes tell the stories

Of my dreams —

Awake in the abyss of not feeling anything,

Inspired by the lack of sleep…

I have been looking for

Poetry lines in the numbness within me