By Márcia Batista Ramos
Márcia Batista Ramos from Brazil holds degree in Philosophy. She is Cultural Manager, writer, poet and literary critic. She is also a columnist in Inmediaciones Magazine, La Paz, Bolivia, in binational journalism Exilio, Mexico, in archive.e-consulta.com, Mexico and in Madeinleon Magazine, Spain. She published several books and anthologies. She is also part of several anthologies. She is contributor to international magazines in more than 14 countries.
In the sheaf of sheets where you wrote, in between the lines, your fears
Our love was nested…
Drowned in tears
In a chest I hid my stories, without secrets…
While the lighthouse illuminated my steps towards you
Your hand never fit mine.
In a tyrant, cruel time
In my sky a wounded cloud.
In your night’s other whispers and the silent moon.
(No sound on the moon)
Is there no sincere word?
That infinite distance!
Love like ours
That tastes like a lot
And it tastes like nothing.
Where do we inherit any tenderness?
I hide my sorrow:
I hope you cradle my soul.
I look at a kind of mirror…
I in you become a poem,
“Things that die never rise again,
Things that die never come back”.
You said goodbye
What silence, what lack of air!
Between us the pain, the lipless kisses, words – poems
In you, there was little more than a desire
And the taste of anger
In me, the memories moldy cocoons, between dire shadows…
The incommunicable pain that you will never know…
Outside the raging wind
The broken life, the soul in pieces, the hours that were,
Withered hope, infinite longing,
The inert days
Path that leads to nowhere
Secret love that will not return
The minefields, stretching distances
The mind waiting for signs, experiencing torture
You said goodbye, while I
Detaching myself from myself
Unravelling in silence
Spilling me in water and salt,
With the eyes in pieces
With shortness of breath
… I also said goodbye to you.
Before I was born:
Today I’m alive
Full of the dead!