(translation) fiama hasse pais brandão II

I think, sometimes, my capacity of understanding is as mantle of light deposited upon the world, and its endless, patina-like nature allows me to see things as hallucinations. It’s an othered feeling, a removal of the envy one often feels for the levity (and brevity) of everything else. The undiluted sentiments one had as a

on Dzubas

Sorry for the bad poem; my styles in Portuguese and English are very divergent at the moment, (thank god, it took me so long to get to this point), but that also means they don’t get a lot of interrelational textures and can’t enjoy proper translations. Besides, I haven’t been feeling my best, which justifies

I translated some poems from Iberian authors

FALSE STATUE Only in false gold have my eyes shimmered;I’m a sphynx without mystery at sight.The sadness of things that never happeneddescend in my soul as a veiled light. In my pain, craving swords are broken,illuminated arrows blend with dark.The shades flowing from me are torn apart,as with yesterday, to me, today is forsaken. I

catkins (english|portuguese poetry)

CATKINS AMENTILHOS Again, not quite as potent as I would have it; writing compositions over days (or, at times, weeks) allows for a more refined method of writing, but some assaulting sensations end up becoming elements of works where they don’t necessarily belong, which makes the process muddy. Sieving said sensations, percolating them, becomes a