terça-feira, 25 de fevereiro de 2014

Yin and yang

Here goes, in English:

Dear boy, it's quite a simple matter.
We are made of the same stuff.
There's that same little machine,
the same pulsing red muscle, the same
purple aorta in my chest. I breathe
the same damaged air.
I have absolutely no essence.
I live my daily life in the very same city
of old ports and starving sailors
which one day provides me shelter
and the next, takes away all that is
best in me. How could my desire
be any different? To you,
a black ink stain that calls my bluff.
To me, a warm little bird
that has just fallen from its nest.
It spreads its wings.

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