THE SUNSET…
By Luiz Romeu Oliboni
l.oliboni@terra.com.br
Freme intact nature, strongly…
…Let that happen, I don’t say,
but he is sadly dying…
From the west the bloody blue cloak,
increasingly red, fast, incandescent…
This ‘Guarani’ Indian
he shoots aimlessly, disheveled, mercilessly,
your accurate arrow,
I don’t know how,
hits the heart in reverse,
and the sun without another verse,
staggers in rhyme,
falling down,
leaving
goodbye at the top!…
Nature brakes strongly,
languid in solutions at the end of the day…
The hemisphere of this latitude is lost
on the verge of mourning…
What other fruit of life is there other than death?
The sun is buried in blood!…
The night, the night comes…
The understanding “Madonna”,
bringing in your eyes the satchel of kindness
and throws the black burel over the soul of nature….
O night, mother of the rising sun,
I know that you suffer more than anyone else…
Your dead son, already in the tomb,
like God thrown (…)
The mother suffers helplessly,
swords of pain are stuck…
The candle in mourning lights up,
the stars accompany him,
the night cries…Cries…Long cries…
Crying vents tears,
best medicine for the heart…
The tear washes away the past,
refreshes nature in sleep.
This, this was all a dream of the imagination,
When I woke up, there were still tears
about the flowers in the garden…