desencontros

in the end, we're all but lost souls trying to live everyday the best we can...

everywhere i look, i only find people who fail to believe, who are too hurt to get back to that special place where everything is amazing, magic and possible.
¨
[after all, nothing is more painful than a shattered dream]

the nightingale and the rose

'she said that she would dance with me if i brought her red roses,' cried the young student; 'but in all my garden there is no red rose.'
from her nest in the holm-oak tree the nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.
'no red rose in all my garden!' he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. 'ah, on what little things does happiness depend! i have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched.'
'here at last is a true Lover,' said the nightingale. 'night after night have i sung of him, though i knew him not: night after night have i told his story to the stars, and now i see him. his hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his lace like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow.'
'the prince gives a ball tomorrow night,' murmured the young student, 'and my Love will be of the company. if i bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. if i bring her a red rose, i shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. but there is no red rose in my garden, so i shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. she will have no heed of me, and my heart will break.'
'here indeed is the true Lover,' said the nightingale. 'what i sing of he suffers: what is joy to me, to him is pain. surely Love is a wonderful thing. it is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the market-place. it may not be purchased of the merchants, 'or can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.'
'the musicians will sit in their gallery,' said the young student, 'and play upon their stringed instruments, and my Love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. she will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. but with me she will not dance, for i have no red rose to give her;' and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.
'why is he weeping?' asked a little green lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.
'why, indeed?' said a butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.
'why, indeed?' whispered a daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.
'he is weeping for a red rose,' said the nightingale.
'for a red rose!' they cried; 'how very ridiculous!' and the little lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.
but the nightingale understood the secret of the student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.
suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. she passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.
in the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful rose-tree, and when she saw it, she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.
'give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and i will sing you my sweetest song.'
but the tree shook its head.
'my roses are white,' it answered; 'as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. but go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
so the nightingale flew over to the rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.
'give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and i will sing you my sweetest song.'
but the tree shook its head.
'my roses are yellow,' it answered; 'as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. but go to my brother who grows beneath the student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want.'
so the nightingale flew over to the rose-tree that was growing beneath the student's window.
'give me a red rose,' she cried, 'and i will sing you my sweetest song.'
but the tree shook its head.
'my roses are red,' it answered, 'as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. but the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and i shall have no roses at all this year.'
'one red rose is all i want,' cried the nightingale, 'only one red rose! is there no way by which i can get it?'
'there is a way,' answered the tree; 'but it is so terrible that i dare not tell it to you.'
'tell it to me,' said the nightingale, 'i am not afraid.'
'if you want a red rose,' said the tree, 'you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. you must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. all night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine.'
'death is a great price to pay for a red rose,' cried the nightingale, 'and life is very dear to all. it is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the sun in his chariot of gold, and the moon in her chariot of pearl. sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. yet Love is better than life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?'
so she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. she swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.
the young student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.
'be happy,' cried the nightingale, 'be happy; you shall have your red rose. i will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. all that i ask of you in return is that you will be a true Lover, for Love is wiser than philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than power, though he is mighty. flame-coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. his lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense.'
the student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.
but the oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.
'sing me one last song,' he whispered; 'i shall feel very lonely when you are gone.'
so the nightingale sang to the oak-tree, and her voice was like water bubbling from a silver jar.
when she had finished her song the student got lip, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.
'she has form,' he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove - 'that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? i am afraid not. in fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. she would not sacrifice herself for others. she thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. what a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good.' and he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his Love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.
and when the moon shone in the heavens the nightingale flew to the rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. all night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal moon leaned down and listened. all night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.
she sang first of the birth of Love in the heart of a boy and a girl. and on the topmost spray of the rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. yale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river - pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. as the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the tree.
but the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'press closer, little nightingale,' cried the tree, 'or the day will come before the rose is finished.'
so the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.
and a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. but the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.
and the tree cried to the nightingale to press closer against the thorn. 'press closer, little nightingale,' cried the tree, 'or the day will come before the rose is finished.'
so the nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.
and the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.
but the nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.
then she gave one last burst of music. the white moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. the red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. it floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.
'look, look!' cried the tree, 'the rose is finished now;' but the nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.
and at noon the student opened his window and looked out.
'why, what a wonderful piece of luck! he cried; 'here is a red rose! i have never seen any rose like it in all my life. it is so beautiful that i am sure it has a long latin name;' and he leaned down and plucked it.
then he put on his hat, and ran up to the professor's house with the rose in his hand.
the daughter of the professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.
'you said that you would dance with me if i brought you a red rose,' cried the student. here is the reddest rose in all the world. you will wear it tonight next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how i Love you.'
but the girl frowned.
'i am afraid it will not go with my dress,' she answered;' and, besides, the chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers.'
'well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful,' said the student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.
'ungrateful!' said the girl. 'i tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? only a student. why, i don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the chamberlain's nephew has;' and she got up from her chair and went into the house.
'what a silly thing Love is,' said the student as he walked away. 'it is not half as useful as logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. in fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, i shall go back to philosophy and study metaphysics.'
so he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

by Oscar Wilde

moment

sometimes i go back to that magic second,
when i met your eyes, my heart skipped a beat
and the birds danced to our own soundtrack,
it was then when i knew my life would be forever changed
in that moment when i fell in love

listening

it takes a lot of time for you to learn how to listen to your heart, it requires that you leave selfishness behind, drop all your armours, masks, defences and look truthfully [and most important, humblely] to your surroundings and to the people around you.

you may be surprised with what you find
you may even realize that you knew it all along
or you might just find something new…

bliss, tears, or just the direction you needed all this time

even knowing that your heart and dreams are with someone else,
even knowing that you may never be mine,
i hear it in my heart: that i’ll love you 'til i die

às vezes

às vezes, o fim de tudo anuncia um começo
[mesmo que seja difícil ter os olhos e o coração claros]

às vezes, o fim de tudo anuncia uma chegada
[uma etapa terminada, uma evolução: uma verdade inesgotável que fica para trás]

às vezes, o fim de tudo é escuro
[um manto de verdades mal contadas: espelhos côncavos de todas as ilusões]

às vezes, o fim de tudo é claro
[uma luz, uma presença, liberta todas as negações]

às vezes, o fim de tudo é apenas uma partida que alguém esqueceu de nos avisar
[, às vezes, o fim de tudo é simplesmente um até já]

always MM

in a far away planet there is a rose, she lives in her own world, with her roots buried deep in the ground.

despite being beautiful, she has big and very sharp thorns that kept anyone to get close.

disappointed with her loneliness, she believed she wasn’t pretty enough, she wasn’t smart enough. for many years, she couldn’t grow, just because the world to her was an ugly place: there were too many caterpillars that could attack her, she should expose herself too much to the sun or to the cold wind, and, sensitive as [thought] she was, that could hurt or even destroy her. so, she preferred to have her roots in one place, where she knew she was in control.

still, she dreamt with happiness, fairy tales and beautiful gardens. spreading her roots to far off places and knowing many other flowers and tasting all different sorts of water. but all her fears paralysed her, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t grow, and that sunk her heart.

one day, coming from a passing comet, a prince landed on her planet. he had childish, inquisitive eyes, and looked at everything as new. the rose, surprised with this foreigner, lured him. the prince came closer, started talking to the rose but got stung on one thorn. scared, he moved back, sucking his finger to stop his blood, and stared at the rose from a distance: he could see her fears, he could see her heart, and he could even see [and understand] her thorns. his eyes shone, brightly green; feeling lucky to have found her, his heart danced.

he timidly approached her [he too was scared to get hurt], and started talking to her. she showed him a world full of colour and feelings. the star crossed prince, previously numbed by all travelling, past experiences disappointments, started to feel again. she taught him how to dream again, how to look forward for the future. she was demanding, stubborn, and always kept a distance. however, magic sparked whenever they were together, and slowly the prince fell totally in love for the rose.

the prince used to travel a lot, taking comets to other distance planets [he was an important prince], leaving the rose alone on her planet. wherever he was, he would always look at the night sky and remember his rose, longing to come back, to be with her, to smell her.

he came back to the rose’s planet every time he could, and she awaited him pretending sorrow, and defensive for him to leave her, and that hurt the prince. she tried to make him less important than he was, letting him know of all other flowers she knew. then the prince would started talking again, and by each magic moment, the rose started to bloom and spread her roots further.

as he saw her blooming, the prince vowed to love her, to protect her no matter what. even as her thorns wounded him, bleeding him, the prince was happy. for him all that mattered was that somewhere in the entire universe, there was a rose.

a special rose for him, that would some day bloom and he that could dream to be with her

tonight

tonight let me take your hand,
let us swim in the ocean,
under a star covered sky,
then just lie in the sand with your head on my chest,
while I tell you stories to drive the ghosts away,
shielding you from the cold with my arms

tonight let me take you to all special places,
where streets have all the history of the world,
where Men have fought and loved,
and thousands of stories were carved,
with beauty and romance walking hand in hand,
let their performers entertain us while we discover
that life’s greatness is set in stone and mortar,
and lit by thousands of streetlamps

tonight I’ll wear a dark suit,
and you, a beautiful long dress,
let’s us dance to the piano and rain,
in an ancient ball room,
with princes and kings, ladies and queens.
i’ll let you take the lead,
through a maze of warmth, colour and music,
and the crowd will rejoice
with your beauty and grace

tonight, let us pretend that the past is closed,
that we don’t have any wounds, scars nor fears
let us believe in magic, in dreams, and
write our own wide-eyed tales and fantasies,
let us dive into love and passion,
in a long lasting hug,

tonight let me believe that, even if just for a moment,
we’ll love each other forever no matter what,
and that tomorrow will never come

tonight, be all that you were so far,
be all that you will ever be,
live and believe in all your dreams with me by your side,
until dawn comes, and takes you away from me

fallen angel

what's the point?

[i hate being in exile,
i hate mondays,]

i screwed up,
even when i naïvely though
i was doing the right thing,
[yes, i'm that stupid...]

so...
what's the point in doing good,
what's the point in being there,
what's the point of letting people in,
what's the point of trusting,
what's the point of dreaming,
what's the point of giving second chances,
what's the point of loving,

if sooner or later,
something will blow up
[either I or someone else will do it],
and shatter my heart?

shadow

whatever i do, i’m misread,
whatever i say, You don’t trust me,
whatever i think, i must have something else in my mind,
whatever is wrong, is my fault,
whoever i am, i’m never good enough,

don’t know if You expected someone else,
don’t know if the expectations were too high,
or just that your ghosts and fears are so great,
that the world around is always poisoned.

i’ve opened my heart, been truthful, cared
tried to save You from darkness,
from bitterness,
took whatever hits i could take,
so that You wouldn’t be hurt,
i always stood by You, and defended You,
even when You don’t understand neither how nor why i do it,
even when You ran away,
even when You hurt me…

but i was never enough,
everything i did was tainted, corrupted or poisoned,
either by others or by yourself [i’ll never know]
everything was a test, which was set for me to lose
[whatever the outcome i always lost],
i could have never been the man you wanted,
‘cause You never really looked at me

i may not be the one,
i may have failed massively,
but i loved You from the start

quem ama não dorme

..while growing up he is considered strange by the other people and discovers his love to music, especially to playing the organ at the local church. After experiencing an "acoustic wonder", his eye color changes and he can hear even the most subtle sounds. He falls in love with Elsbeth, the sister of Peter, a neighbor's son, who has loving feelings towards him ever since. After Elsbeth marries someone else, he decides to end his life by not sleeping anymore

the story of a musician, who brought his life to an end at the age of 22 having decided not to sleep any more. In a mountain village isolated from the world, the fate is fulfilled by a man mortally afflicted by a musical genius which prevents him from following the beating of his heart and settling for happiness with the woman whom he loves more than his own life

treasures from the chest I [the story of a lost key]

How can I reach your heart?
Tell me baby, 'cause I need to know
Everywhere I seek your smile,
Longing for kisses that are not there,
Everywhere I chase your shadow,
Trying to get (at least) a glimpse of you
No one fills in the world like you do,
Lightly, full of passion, colour and music.
No one makes my heart beat like you do,
Hoping that yours will sing someday too.
I want to hold you, to love and protect you,
I want to be your prince, your trust,
Your safe harbour, your lover and your friend
The road to you is blurry,
And the world is trying to keep us apart, but
I want to fight, to wait, and to travel to you
How can I reach your heart?
Tell me baby, 'cause I need to know

what do you do, when chance takes away your dreams?

I played fair, I fought for it, but chance took the best.
Tomorrow, I'll dream again and life will be good,
but today is not such a great day...

great songs always have an end

I know it was just a cool thing:
you knew someone you didn't think you could,
you got to have a friend, someone who cared.
I know you meant it well,
and that I'm close to your heart,
but that is all [and enough] for you,
and I'll never be The Someone you love [and trust].
'cause, although innocent and just small things, [in your eyes]
your kisses meant the world to me,
'cause, although friendly and at a guard, [in you heart]
having you in my arms healed my wounds,
'cause, although spontaneous and light hearted, [in your soul]
your words, looks and love, got me free.
it comes to me why I chose not to feel:
all great songs come to end,
in a big [empty] silence, or with the sound fading,
but when I play the music,
my heart always ends up hurting.

How can there be love...

... if there is no trust?

lettre à Sabina

there are some things you should know.
I will charm you, tease you, lure you into my arms. You may have a midnight dance, or a sunrise kiss. We’ll laugh under the starts, dance in the snow and stand out in a crowd. I’ll show you that men and women are always terrified of the unexpected, and show you how feeble are their attempts to control what’s beyond them. I’ll let you savour the beauty of the unique and magic moments when you make your fantasies come true. You will see a universe full of colour, sounds and emotions, where every step may be an adventure, a leap into an unending abyss [, or just a step forward like any other].
But, you will not see me.
I’ll let you see glimpses of me, moments of pure truth. I’ll show you my lair and my kingdoms. Take you to some of my magic places. I’ll even care for you; protect you if [and only if] you need me to. I’ll embrace you and dry your tears when you’re sad. Bring in the champagne when you’re happy. And be there for you [sometimes]. But you will not see, nor have my heart.
For He, is neither mine to keep nor to show. It belongs to Her: my beloved one, my queen and my pain. She’s the only woman with who I can do magic, the one I’m always home with, the only one I gave my love, heart and life to. She’s the one I miss. And although we’re not together, she knows I’m just a whisper away and when she calls [or I find her, whatever comes first], I’ll go to the gates of Heaven [or Hell], just to bring her back. She ran away now, she’s afraid to dream, be happy and in doing so ruining others’ lifes. I am relentlessly and patiently looking for her, as she’s the only one who can make me happy.
So, although I’m here [and I may be playing], my heart is not, and for that, I cannot love you as all my love belongs just to Her.

shattered glass

the world is unfair and ugly,
hearts get torn,
you chase dreams and leave all behind,
to find you don't want them.
promises are left to keep,
people will let you down,
you'll hide from yourself,
your place in the world,
your future and your happiness
'cause you can't let the past to rest
feelings will come and go,
people will come and go.
you'll seek strength in pride
and in games you control,
only to loose yourself inside
and become someone you don't know.
But, happiness will always lay in front you,
and at the reach of your heart.
if you're willing to take it:
change from within,
accept who you are,
and not what you missed,
be true to yourself,
believe that you don't need all the answers,
nor a meticulously drawn plan,
to travel your own path,
but selfless love, friendship and truth
and you'll reach way beyond your dreams:
you'll have the power to change the world,
the power to heal the others,
yourself and your past,
and even mend a shattered glass.

sem resposta

questions they tear my head apart
answers somewhere beyond my reach
awaking a long sleeping heart
questions rise again arousing the doubts:
was it all but a dream,
was it magic gone to waste,
was it all worth it,
was it an illusion gone in haste
how could it be good,
when it ached so much
how could it be true,
if you're not even here to touch,
will I ever be back in control,
will I ever see you again,
will I ever touch your heart,
and get sunlight out of pouring rain.

My good Deed

I tried to save a girl I truly loved
And didn't quite know how to help her
So now she's sleeping as her parents up above
Cry over things that they can't tell her

And when I did my good deed
I thought I'd feel unbroken gladness
But standing in the street alone
I just felt sinking sadness

Girl, your dad will not us bless
So hang up your veil and dress
Look at me and take one guess
Where this best-intentioned love will lead us

I once felt a feeling fully through
Though I knew I shouldn't feel it
Because to act on it I'd be a person
Who should be slapped into a straitjacket

So every time it comes around
I just let it die inside me
You said, "I only come around
Because I just need you to hide me"

So we knelt in those dead weeds
Sticks and sharp rocks cutting into our knees
And I thought that we would freeze
But there was just too much warm blood in our bodies

I'm not going to make you take the pills
Though you should really think about it
The fire by which we both were almost killed
Glowed so beautiful—don't doubt it

But we have to make a choice now
Can we glow without it?
There's a space I tried to fill
But I'm seeing now I never will
You fly around while I stand still
Until I slowly just get smaller and smaller

I tried to save a girl I truly loved
And I never would desert her
But we both found out that I was dreaming
Of the day I thoroughly could hurt her

And I saw myself inside her eyes
This shrinking would-be savior
Resented her for never needing him
And couldn't wait just to betray her

So we drove back to her place
From the temporary home that we had made
And I stepped back into the street
Feeling the fullest moment of my life
Slowly shrink away from me