AUTHOR: www.cunhasimoes.net
TRANSLATOR: jose.patricio@iol.pt

THE REVOLT OF THE MAN

We must agree, that the fight locked by the man, to survive, is
tremendous.
All of us would like to be this or that, more
fortunate, and all lament the hard life imposed to us.
In some words: Very few are those that live consonant
their thought; the others, are the rioted.
To you, I give my feelings, my reactions, finally, myself, so that comparing it with yours, we can understand ourselves.
Only this way, knowing us mutually, the good and the bad pieces of our interior, we can know how to correct the imperfections and to increase the virtues.
Proceeding like this, the fight for the survival will be, possibly, more lessened, because we should not be afraid to look at one another face to face with respect as lost siblings in the world.
C.S.


Here is the man!
Indefinite animal
Without beginnings, without ends.
He hits upon in suit with the hazard
It gets right where it happens.
King without knowing it,
It blinds him the prominence,
The pride, the vanity.
Poor animal!
Capricious; imbecile
Not rarely,
And very irrational.
Here is the man:
King of the animals
And animal of the kings


Those imbeciles! Those idiots! Those cretins!
This universe is protecting!
They are not right, they don't live love,
They look suspicious for everyone.


A hundred, two hundred million ignoramuses,
Inhabit the planet, staggering.
Pushed here, whipped there.
They live as pigs, worse still!
Achieve the remains of the wealthy
That humiliating them delights themselves
Of this docile humility, understanding.
And, this band of soft miserable,
Is not able of mentally to discourse
That the ignorance dirties them of mud.


In this evil brain,
I forge so many crazy ideas
That countless have been the mouths
That they nickname me of crazy.
It is the air, it is the experience, it is the climate,
It is said by thousands of voices in chorus.
And I live embittered
With this chat
Without knowing, if it is me, or them the lunatics.


Fallen.
Dreamer, held up by destinies,
Where the voice is the terror and the fear.
Sad shadows wandering staggering
Imagining
New fortunes,
New sails,
New warriors, strong and powerful.
Proud heirs of ruins.
Universal pariahs.
False prophets
Renovating of myths.
But, heirs of ruins.
Half a dozen of marionettes dolled up
Looking like gentlemen
They swell up fatuous.
Men disappeared.
The streets are empty.
The common sense turned back
Entered inside the cafés
Breathes intestinal airs.
And when somebody question:
At what time do you get up?
They look with a sheep-like air,
And they answer never again


For a span of ingrate earth
Colossal conflicts are generated.
The men lose their heads,
Become wretched animals.
They struggle for impossible chimeras
Forgetting the transitory time
That was given them to enjoy
A little bit of life, a flare of air.
And, when they become aware of the mistake
They imbecilely committed,
Prepares them the merry widow
A magnificent or miserable interment.


Set in bloody rows,
Enter captives.
The field is full.
Fuller it became
Gnawing bones
Digging bogs
These rude phizogs
From suffering so much
They become different
Or irrational.
The executioners, snobs,
Seem badgers,
They resemble nabobs
Indefinitely lucky
Continuously fattening
They wait for only one day;
That the luck changes.


They call me crazy.
They throw me stones huggermugger,
They speak about me as if I was Lucifer.
But, when I seek for love
In my fellow creatures' eyes,
I find the fine steel of the swords
Pointing fearlessly, rudely.
And by dint of killing me,
I am dying, in my solitude


Weeping is going the widow her sweetheart
Who ‘ll never be replaced.
All cheer her, all soothe her.
Miserable!
Time everything quenches, it is whispered.
A year passes on the event.
On the grave’s marble, fallen,
The picture of the mourned husband
Makes remember oblivion’s worth.
In parties and movable teas
All request, all manifest
Amiable slyly replete erotic smiles to the
Little widow.
Seconds time, in the infinite time.
Where each one, doesn’t means a simple scream.
Here the man's most heaviness.


They are young,
Those who make up the procession.
Nor only one old age wrinkle impressed them.
And they had, maybe, been happy, if...
The death manufactured by men
Had forgotten them throughout years.
They continue singing bitternesses
Without seeing one another.
They fear to recognize themselves,
They flee from themselves, being ethereal
And only the love they left, enslaves them.


To
J.C. Neves
I lost you my Brother.
The death shrouded you the life
And brought me the mourning.
To me, the destiny doesn't conform,
And among the laws of the earth, none form
Justifies your removal to me.
I would shout to the skies, if the skies heard me.
I would implore the infinite the justification
Of this absurdity: death - life.
But I don't have forces, or faiths,
Or patience, or anything; anything; Zé.
You understand, you always comprehended
This my caprice-living
This my claiming to be and not to be.
Unhappily, it wasn’t me who set out,
But you the good, the fair, the honest:
And the thinking riff-raff, stay indifferent,
In the law of the time and circumstances.
But, I cannot conform myself
With the infamy that sacrificed you,
The innocent victim, immolated
In praise of a heap of cans!


Do you know that I hate you of death?
Do you know that you don't nauseate me and I don’t fear you?
That I nickname you of dirty and revengeful?
Of treacherous and infamous, yes, infamous!
Do you know that I laugh at your threats?
That I challenge you and I spit in your face and insult you?
Not even so you risk?
Not even so you attack, coward?
Only the defenceless souls are your preys.
Only the good ones and the honest you take quite early.
You fear absorbing poison
And you leave me.
A thousand times miserable and so many
I exorcise you, vomiting the hate
That never understood before.


An open face
Always smiling
Walks fast and greets.
Blond hair, uncertain step
It is Lady Death that enters.
How are you getting on?
And fleeing, always smiling,
She laughs, laughs sweet, angelic.
If something is asked her:
Question: how?
Ah! Yes.
And smiles.
She smiles, as she didn't understand
And didn't be aware of the words
Plus than the required.
And running, in a hurry-scurry, as fleeing
Of something that torments her,
She answers quickly to everything.
Walking and smiling,
Delighting always.


Pulsing of the earth makes feel itself
With catastrophes and explosions
Of hate and blood.
The chaos and the end approach,
They touch, hug, and reverence each other,
The laughter stopped shining, valueless.
The misfortunes are happening in catadupe
And nobody is penitent; it is nobody fault
Of what happens in these convulsions.


I look with thoughtful eyes
The complex facts of the rational beings.
And I wonder, as everything can happen
In nature, without any disagreement.
The cannibals are left free and easy,
People's forums are done to true animals
And for all it is fine.
Criminals fault where are you?
Destinies players, who are you?


Time is of justice,
Proclaim the crowds.
Love, peace, fraternity
State the councils.
Peace, peace, just peace,
Repeat the lecturers.
Harmony, love, fairness
All aspire a few minutes.
But whom sell the guns,
Wonder magnates?
And in a sudden second,
Peace, justice, ideals
Disappear from this world
Where run tigers
And cannibals are put on weigh.


They increase the cockroaches.
And after a full evolution
We have a thinking being mentor of the world:
The man.
He carries shield and four foots
Divided two by two, overlapped.
He is the king, is he convinced by someone. And some are.
Those that looking on the sky
There they are staying
Before the universal eugenics:
(No, they are not Jews) they are slaves
And the man-king and the man-slave will live.
The greed, the prepotency, and profit blind him.
But the king, has the “eye” of the occasion:
The mental eye.
The exploration begins,
And the man-slave that thinks himself a man
Sees, that he only exists, as cockroaches-tree:
The golden tree


I felt him the rage, the hate, the dribble:
Sticky, purulent, poisoning
When he told me: you were lucky.
The man's luck is made of wishing for.
Of the honesty of seeming the infinite
In everything done in the earth.
The man, is a decreasing-believer,
That laughs before the eternal punishment
Or the noble creator image.
All are equalled a little to Judas,
They act according the occasion, the profit.
You were lucky; it is a prize, a punishment,
Of the willpower, of the wanting win
Struggling with millions of similar beings.
It is a firm character, tough,
That faces storms
Opposing to all, the fragile-hard chest.
The man, are all the contradictions
Of nature: rude and cruel, tame and sweet;
As well as he chose the model, so he is.


I cry among walls
Among nights of loneliness.
And the more distressed,
Sadder I am
And more warmth I need.
But these walls!
These empty walls,
These dreamlike ceilings
Where I conceal so many requests!
They tell me the places are few
And a set the suitors.
And very depressing, very alone
I cry, I cry spitefully and inwardly.


Sometimes, when I dream…
Yes, I have dreams too.
I am creating an immense painting in the world,
An endless dawn, blue life,
Blue affection, blue peace, blue love,
Where all the birds find her nest
And where each bee has its own flower.
And my golden and happy dreams…
I forget the fire
That in my veins, in myself, in my whole body,
Makes that my sister, my creative mind,
In dreamt happiness throws expand roots.


To the Woman

Indispensable accessory to the man,
He never rendered you the due value.
You are lowered, he humiliated you, and criticized.
And you, always sweet, always balmy,
You’re further going suffering the eternal curse
Without a moan, without a hurt.
I don't know what kind of hidden fears
Make you suffuse in the fallen valley, in tears,
Mistakes I didn't glimpse.


I admire the children in the world
Within small beings, broken and barefoot
That play neglected day by day.
The pain that I feel and they don't perceive
In these sweet moments of the green years
Within everything is blind, hazy of mistakes,
Makes me undergo the grief.
And who cannot riot
In front of the superfluous wealth?
And he hears the roguish anarchical
Soundless laughter of the heartless, of the richest?
When he sees two dirty, meagre little hands,
To be extended in fear, trembling...


This right hand, that I discern and knows me,
Has tough gestures, felines, that lashes into fury
Who doesn't know as steering it:
Now she gives, now removes, now shakes off
And nobody knows what can count up.


All of us cart some madness
In the dorsal vertebrae.
A lot of times, being in trance,
We enter in solitarily delirium.
And I know that, as the poor as the rich,
Has his hidden furies.


When I was younger, long years ago …
I thought to found the congregation of love.
Alas! Boys’ ideas.
While I was able to, I kept secret.
But, congregate is to bond and bond is to join.
I spoke to my friends about it.
Do you guess what happened?
They laughed…
They laughed out right,
Of this chaste vision, of untainted love.
And I, that had built the beautiful,
Only idealization, friendship, understanding,
I retreated panted, sickened of my group.
Ever since, I only think:
Contradictions.


It is not the stillness of the grave
That this dumbness quests.
Looking only, without anything saying,
I find the bareness of the sword chasing
Each perceived word.
My silence, searches tracts of land
Where throwing roots,
Where sowing new shades
And works of real price.
To speak, only for speaking, without faiths,
Without definite ideas.
What for? Why?
Hallowed the silence of idealizations,
Derisive before self-righteousness,
Laughing at proclaimed obligations.


I look for the peace and the calm
Creating illusions.
Victim of a thousand of sins,
I am blamed for another thousand.
I sang in vain
The appeal of the grave.
I ran opening my arms
Wanting to achieve the eternity.
And, even that I lost,
When tripping in the ignorance,
Of my law lords.


I crossed over the earth,
Distressed, unhappy.
Inquietude flower
Of festival whispers
And false disagreements.
I drank in all faiths
And I found naught, I hit upon nonentity.
If miserable I entered the earth,
Sorrowful I left the world.


Early or late, in the morning or at night,
The symbol of the virtue shall come out;
And just as the Hebraic angels
It claims the punishment.
The escape is useless, the doors are closed
Without big cover up; what will you do?
Yes what shall you do?


Hunger of justice and love,
Of glory and fortune,
Of truth and purity,
Hunger, hunger of honesty
It is whatever I ask!


My pains are the angry cry
Of an almost spiritualised body stuff.
They are the hoarse exclamation
Against the worldly limitation
In the bodies or souls of each one.
My pains are the bile of the life.
They are, of the conscience, my faults;
They are everything I have,
Whatever exists to offer.


The vanity

Feminine, amusing, very beautiful,
Painted with pencil of many colours
Vanity, the so spoken goddess, emerges.
Bows, courtesies, a thousand of finesses
All the cares are little gratifying
For who spreads so many pleasures.
They give her places, the best ones, in the upper circles,
She is presented as the most gifted daughter.
However, here for us, it feels unhappy.
The all-powerful vanity,
To who kings and queens render cult.
Only she knows, how much worth and suffers
When remembering
That her mother was prostitute.


Dried up, gnawed,
Chubby,
Still, degrading;
They represent lives,
Crazy seditious
Criminal faces,
Where it is read: poverty, hardship,
Desires, inhibition nights,
Hate, love, so many passions.
Repressed interior fights.
Heirs of presumably fetishes
In little there is elation,
In none admiration.


Raunchy justice,
Crazy mercy,
Valves of good and bad deeds,
Tyrants, true justice dictators
And lies.
Universal rascals!
Which day for your trial?


Rejected, vilified, dreaded,
I was done dreamer of revenges.
Silent, I was the enemy
Of all those rocked in hopes.
I became wild animal.
I tore illusions.
Alone I tried at all cost to free me.
Alone I heard shouts of sprightly shouts of laughter
Mocking of my salvation endeavour,
Angry, for the pain, for the incomprehension.
I also laughed. I chortled pain and mirth
I put on each head, palms of sleigh-bells
And I got lost in the world.


What a dreadful silence surroundings me!
What hateful faces hide me
Into the darkness of each soul.


Poets!
Condemned
To serve crowds:
Laid down ephemeral profits to lose,
Follow the innocent soul, your chimeras.


Of an imperfect brain,
Grown to be transcendent,
Emerged the man.
But when he became aware
That he is,
That all surrounding him is real,
His expression falls, upset and gloomy,
His smile turns strained
And next he cries convulsively
For believing, being worm, almighty.


To
Guigui
Friends
How I sought after them,
How many bends for them
To find one!
A true, pure, truthful one.
But where finding him?
Where seek him out in the bad
And acephalous crowd?
Years ran
In this search.
And, when disenchanted,
With no new ideals, no more horizons,
I bawled at the world my despair.
Life’s light goes off
And I brought out in a different way
The amity in my arms:
In the shape of a daughter.


Did I make friends?
All undone, all elapsed.
The envy in some, the suspicion in others
Do-but to lose them.


They call you crazy
Instead of poet.
They throw you jokes
Instead of flowers,
They cast you out
When they should enfold you.
They deflate you
When love should be fairer.
But you,
Poet of the madness,
You keep on
Uncaring the crowd.