Within days the orange grove in the background will be green


In the background, the orange grove continues”/>
I remind you right now at the finish of your day, the date written in this reminiscence is a part of the reminiscences that fill my nerves with coloration, music and that nostalgia that writes love for the future.

All of us, in the instances we stay in, know people who find themselves imprinted in our reminiscences. After all, it’s these reminiscences that fill the nerves with coloration and musicality.
The most stunning life, the nerve-wracking stunning life that rises in time, past the wreckage, is at all times product of heart-warming joys and tears.
We discover the great thing about life on daily basis, past the corners of routines, the freshness of a look, the poetry written in the eyes or the smile, the whispered phrases that awaken the future, as if the future exists. Alive, in all unborn reminiscences.

A good friend I will always remember who taught me to like freedom, who helped me discover the phrase peace, whose smile I at all times hear on the seagull’s flight, once I sit right now excited about the Tagus Cathedral, if it had been. Alive, he would have celebrated his 87th 12 months.
I at all times miss him.

Still in August, I went there to kiss the tenderness of her absence, in Toro, in Ulcer do Sal, her birthplace, the place she rests gazing into eternity, on a plain that stretches to the plain, the place the orange grove stays green in the background. As she wrote in a poem she devoted to me in 1991, and solely this 12 months I realized that it was printed in her e book of poems The Illuminated Word.

I’m speaking about Maria Rosa Colao. The girl who wrote the book-poetry earlier than April 25: A Criança ea Vida, which put phrases to like tales for youngsters. This e book, which was the password of freedom. It was the sound of tenderness. Which was the ache of longing. Want was out of the fraternity. It was the sound that made for love, for love, for love.
This little e book I gave to my lord with the phrases of a kid to kiss his coronary heart. Somewhat e book that handed from hand handy, With phrases of quest for the blue solar, And birds kissing love at daybreak, And, with days boiling in blood, The appeal of the phrase freedom.

I’m speaking about my sister, how she at all times handled me – Maria Rosa Colao – who at some point, in Loveradio, inspired me to jot down poetry, and who enthusiastically requested me to publish a e book of poems, as a result of, she mentioned, your have Poems are written on the floor of the pores and skin, and your fingers plant poems inside every phrase. I by no means wrote the e book of poems that I promised you that at some point I’d write, however, maybe, considered one of these days I will end it, as a result of, in any case, writing poetry will at all times give which means to life. And the great thing about life is poetry.
What is the poem for? I ask myself usually.
Perhaps it will serve to recollect the window in the darkish night time. Or write a kiss in eternity. Or contact the cascade of feelings hidden in the moonlight. Or keep away from the shadows that cover behind the look of magic. Or really feel the screams of a child at dawn in a brilliant placenta-colored solar. Or simply to revive the flowers, the pink carnations, that we laid at your toes, the day we went to bid you farewell, Manuela Fonseca and I, and, there, recited a poem the place April was to be accomplished, the April that you simply at all times Continue your nerves from the waves of the Indian Ocean to the waves of your Alentejo crop or the Almada days while you noticed youngsters in school writing PAZ in all the languages ​​of the world. .

The kids who instructed you that you’re useless and not using a bow, since you are black and don’t have any bow.
Or, maybe, your scarecrow sparrow saying goodbye to you in Toronto, which you bear in mind smiling on Angel’s Wings, sung by Francisco Cia.

I remind you right now at the finish of your day, the date written in this reminiscence is a part of the reminiscences that fill my nerves with coloration, music and that nostalgia that writes love for the future.
One day we will speak. kiss

Antonio Sousa Pereira

09.19.2022 – 23:59

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