Misantropicamente ...
No alto da torre do meu castelo traço defesas,
artimanhas guerreiras,
esboço certezas virtuais
de ataques pessoais
que a minha mente
dita doentia
cria.
Entro em lutas medievais
revestida de aço
duro e baço
enfrento vendavais.
Deito a perder
Sentimento ancestral
por causa aparantemente banal.
Há razões que são razão
Há senão que é senão
Há um existir.
Há um não ao viver
num mundo a mentir
Escrevo em Epopeia
os muitos momentos
Cada vez mais
de outros alheia
Serei eu mesma
até ao momento final.
Nada me pára
nesta revolta letal
O que de mim ficará.
a História julgará
~~~~~~~~~~
I came to a poetic post today which is difficult to translate into English. It's late and I don't feel like doing it really.
It's got a deceived tone and it speaks of being deceived with the surrounding world as much as it leads to feeling like getting away from this maddening crowd that makes me feel revolted due to lying and pretending.
There's the positive side too, of being willing to fight all this said to have been created by my sick mind, fact that makes me retreat into the highest tower of my medieval castle where I make up defence plans to fight back those I take as my enemies.
I won't ever stop being myself though and wish for Historical recognition of my deeds.
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