Life anachronism

I write sometimes thoughts that come to my mind. They often just start with an idea or two, a phrase and play with words and if I’m fast enough I don’t forget them and a few more lines come out of it, into some sort of poetic prose; it is meaningful to me, others have said to have found it deep and wonderful… you make up your own mind about this one.

It’s sad. Very depressing in my opinion. Though I feel it somewhat truthful and a weary advice or wake up call. Eh, anyway, I wrote it yesterday on the train back home and a certain someone insisted that I posted it online for the World to see… so… here it is…

Life anachronism
By Petros Miklos
on 6/Jan/2009

In the dark fabric of time I fall – We call it life.
No one knows where it ends,
Its sudden – sometimes – long and windy otherwise…
And only when you hit your exit do you figure it out.

And there you are – falling -
While opportunities woosh by
As you fly down your time;
Encountering others as they fall too,
Until they make a detour,
Hit a wall or make a choice…
And there you are, alone in a dark pit,
With all others falling along,
Closer or farther from you,
As for ages it has been so.

You feel the void gorging below
And it seems, for a moment,
That if you reach out you’ll just might
Be able to grasp what you feel so near by…
A purpose, a goal,
An objective, a reason,
An explanation perhaps…
A short glimpse of prescience…

But all you see is darkness surrounding you…
What do you do?
What will you do of your time as you fall?

In Memorium

O mundo girou e não parou, não reparou, nem soluçou.
Um ultimo suspiro e o mundo ficou mais escuro, mas nem reparou…
continuou, habituado à eterna constante a que nós nos esquecemos,
inerte, frio, sem sentimento, ceifando um a um, sem aviso ou regras,
mas porque razão?
Porque?…

Uma brisa vem e vai, toca na face a alguns,
a outros passa de lado, quase imperceptível,
e ao mundo passou…
A mim… a mim, apenas cruzou-se momentaneamente,
uma breve memoria, um encontro casual…
e só no fim, no adeus, senti o que vibrava por detrás…

E tudo se desfez, num instante…
sonhos, desejos, emoções, projectos…
ficam as memorias dos que choram…
até quando…
um dia…

triste fado…
nem cantado é…
gemido por ruelas escuras que ninguém vê ou passa…
um fado silencioso…
um silêncio…
…

May you rest in peace Margarita

The Clock

And the evil creation of Men keeps ticking,
Its shrapnels tacking,
Its claws dragging your mind away
wandering where time has gone.
And you find yourself wandering,
If is it just your perception;
When word blossoms in to a forest of phrases,
phrases flow like rivers from your soul,
and you feel every breath in each coma,
each sigh in every ellipses…

You can’t help but wonder…
just wonder…

or you can let it flow,
just let it go,
no worries,
no thoughts,
just let it dance to the rhythm
and don’t forget to smile!

Petros & Summer dancing @ Avilion

The Illusion

THE ILLUSION
by Petros Miklos

The Illusion of the smile as you cry,
deep within when no one sees.
Its arms of iron steel,
clenching you, just mortal flesh.
And the smile keeps flashing by,
and the tears keep holding by,
As the illusion remains,
untouched,
unphased,
undisturbed…

You scream from within,
with a rage of emotions bursting out from you,
but even you, can only hear,
nothing but a faith whisper in your mind,
such is the illusion that keeps you behind…

The illusion, a masquerade,
A fairy tale with unknown ending…

No heroes,
Only villains and despairing victims,
Some hope, but can you reach it?
Who knows…
Who can tell…
Its an illusion, it is not there.

Hypocrisy

This one goes in Portuguese, ‘cuz my poetry muse (who or whatever that is) was thinking in Portuguese today, so… if by some reason you want a translation to English, ask me and I’ll do my best to write it in English without loosing much…

HIPOCRISIA
By me @ 14-07-2008

É da hipocrisia das palavras escondidas por sorrisos falsos que me revolto.
Das palavras subtis, cheias de veneno e intento em cada cadência,
ensaiadas e repisada nas suas mentes retorcidas,
que me contorço numa agonia silenciosa.

Grito de raiva, respiro violência;
mas sei que nada sou mais do que eles também, se assim o fizer…
E suspiro com desalento em silêncio, pensando:
“Que fazer?”
O que fazer contra eles
- os falsos -
que mentem sem saber?
Enganando, um a um todos os que os rodeiam,
até eles próprios…
O que fazer?

É um fado enfadado de maldizer e escárnio que rebola encosta a baixo,
crescendo que nem cancro fulminante.

E percebo, num momento de lucidez, que estou num jogo de xadrez.
Mero peão incauto numa teia de conspirações,
onde tubarões cegos puxam cordéis que nem sabem o que trazem na ponta.
E por um breve instante vislumbro tudo com uma lucidez que me assombra.

Mas o medo me apossa e logo esqueço…
Melhor viver sem saber e ser feliz…
Talvez…
Mas já a memoria ficou,
qual sol na retina, presente para onde quer que se olhe…

Que fazer? Que fazer?
Contra a sofisticada hipocrisia que me assombra?
Não posso lutar,
nem atacar ó defender,
somente ficar impávido mas não sereno,
esperando justiça divina que me valha…

Ó maldito pó que pensas…
Desperta e cai em ti;
e pára de me agoniar!

Stranger in the Subway

A stranger stands alone in the subway.
With an uncertain destiny and a vanishing origin.
There he stands, proud and sad of his accomplishment.

A stranger in the crowd,
alone,
all by himself.
Brave soul born to a wicked little world,
and there he stands:
Still,
like in death,
but alive,
just barely,
just surviving.
Alone.
All alone he stands.
Standing in the crowd.
In the crowd unnoticed as wind above in the sky.
And so he blows,
blows like the wind.
A word, maybe two…

He’s still alone,
all alone,
but the sensing as return,
his presence as been felt.
A smile,
another word,
just a feeble reminder,
just a cling on to hope.