Chosen Chronicles

Posted by marmara on May 30, 2014

It can have a high window of where I see the sky and the sea, but must have one I sing well sossegado where I can be alone, quiet, thinking my things, one I sing sossegado where one day I can die. The youth can live in these glad barracadas ones of cement, us needs solid ortalezas; the house must be before everything the inviolable asylum of the sad citizen; where it can bradar, without fear nor shame, the name of loved its: Joana, JOANA! – certain of that nobody will hear; house is the place of walking naked of body and soul, small farm to speak alone. Where I, that I do not know to draw, can take days trying to trace in the wall the profile of loved mine, without nobody sees and smiles; where I, that I do not know to make verses, can improvise songs in high voice for my love; where I, that I do not have belief, can pray the occult deities, that are only mine. House must be the preparation for the secret biggest of the tomb. BRAGA, Rubem. 200 Chosen Chronicles. 17 edition, Rio De Janeiro: Record, 2001

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