Muito Obrigada

I want to thank everyone for the lovely year, even if we never got to interact. Thank you for reading my posts, poems and the like, even if occasionally. 

Thank you for those who were sweet and kind to me, especially when I really needed sweetness and kindness in my life. You know who you are, I never forget anyone. 

I haven’t been very active on WP (or anywhere) lately, but maybe things will change soon. I have to visit many blogs. 

Wishing you happiness.

A beautiful and peaceful 2018 for all of us




Self Proclaimed Martyr

A wandering star in the winter sky

Only makes the night darker

Once it fades away


Waking up from the delirium,

Just like a martyr —

I wake up on the cross


Fantasia (fragment) by Álvares de Azevedo

Loosely translated by Lira

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


Our love is impure

As light and water

And everything that is born

And lives beyond time


Mia Couto — Fragmento de Amor, Meu Amor
Translation: Lira


This was originally posted in 2016. This poem is just beautiful.


Our love was endless while it lasted

Vinícius de Moraes


I’m always reposting and retranslating this… I need to do the whole thing. I know this line isn’t enough, but it’s the most meaningful.

“Oh Lord, give me chastity… But not now”

The sunset faded away 

In the reminiscences of a twilight,

In the red braids 

Of the lady who rushed downstairs, desperate,

Running from a hotel room 

In the middle of the early hours 

Of a nice morning


It was late May, time for flowers.

Right in front of the ocean, the beach

Outside was blue… When she left through

The beautiful glass door

With detailed allegories — 

The god of the damned!


She breathed fresh air, 

Filling herself with the sky of May

And suddenly, while breathing in,

She realized an abyss — and jumping in

Without knowing where to go…

Life was beautiful outside

In an inexplicable way,

But she had faith in her naive confidence,

In the twilight of her red braid

And in the golden skin of an unmade sunset.



Sometimes I ask V to write poems with me and we just let things flow without really paying much attention to what we’re saying, causing a beautiful disaster that no one gets in the end. Each one of us writes a couple lines, then waits for the other to complete whatever the first one tried to say, even if unaware of what the hell was happening in the beginning… This explanation doesn’t make sense, does it? Oh… Well…

And, yes, this was translated (very poorly) by me.

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