ADAMS E EVANS
( © Patrícia Evans)
Numa planície branquela
de neve, quimera e gelado,
feito folha de papel A 4 virgem, incauta, nunca utilizada,
abrem as asas ainda mais alvas,
anjos caídos de lado — foram pegos na avalanche — imbecilmente atropelados.
Um sacudiu as penas rindo
do pouso trombado.
Outro, do mesmo modo atrapalhado, enfiou a mão no gelo almofadado e buscou da aura um perdido pedaço.
Depois de refeitos, vislumbraram a planície
e decidiram ser perfeito
o gelo — a neve que a cobria;
chamaram Deus que desceu
exilados filho e filha.
Um puxou a tinta
o outro o pincel
Não há mais branco ou neve ou gelo
só restam as quimeras na planície de papel.
ADAMS AND EVANS
( © Patrícia Evans)
In a white plain of snow, ice and chimera,
as a sheet of paper A4, virgin, reckless, never used,
open their wings further albs, angels that fell aside
- were caught in the avalanche - stupidly knocked down.
One of them shook his feathers laughing of the rough landing.
The other, just awkwardly,
reached into cushioned ice and sought a lost piece of aura.
reached into cushioned ice and sought a lost piece of aura.
After remade, they glimpsed the plain
and decided the ice was perfect
- the snow that covered it.
They called God who had sent down those now exiled,
not angels anymore, made man and woman, His son and daughter.
One asked for the ink,
the other, the brush.
No more white or snow or ice...
only remaining chimeras in plain papers.
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