Where are we?

Mother, what have we done to each other?
When did we stop kissing goodnight?
My sheets have gone troubled and I wish to know why.
And when did we decide that beds are only made for one?
Solitude is only bliss when optional
Mother, how have we turned so bitter?
Where did we bury our rainy days?
And the perky roses we drew? Where are they?
Are they in a different garden now, Mother?
Because I miss their smell,
The baked flavor of naivety is growing in my mouth
And I crave for it every little second.
Mother, I am puzzled and oblivious.
I cannot remember where I left the easiness of life.
Is it on the top shelf? Under the bed?
It is driving me insane.
How am I supposed to leave the house without it, Mother?
It is not sweet and tender anymore outside.
It’s rough against my skin and I wish I could get it off.
I wish someone would get it off.
Did I do this to ourselves?
Did I do this to myself?
Father, whose fault is it?
This is a never-ending riddle
And I am cruel enough to solve it
As if the blame would release me from myself.
Where are the electric blue lights crawling on the walls, Father?
And the harmony of singing and the guitar calming us down
I miss it
I miss the taste of melted chocolate in my tongue
The smell of beer in yours
And the salty tears that went by
With no fear
No shame
No burden
No blame and no charades.
Father, I feel I am going mad.
I keep looking at the dining table and the empty space struggles my breathing.
Isn’t someone missing?
There used to be an extra plate, an extra glass
An extra everything.
Where are you, Brother?
Where did you go?
I recall having you here all the time
You disappeared in a flash of mist and watered eyes
And you left games to play.
Am I supposed to finish them all by myself, Brother?
I don’t mind if you get to win.
But can you stay?
I do not want to play hide and seek.
There are tents to make
Skates to ride
Songs to listen to
And a sister to talk to.
I can’t do it all by myself, Brother,
And everyone keeps telling me I have to.
I do not want to.
I do not need to.
Is this getting any harsher?
I can’t take it anymore.
You used to wipe this off of my face, Father,
And lift me up
And put me to sleep.
I do not want to be brave
I do not want to be grown
I want to be part of the furniture
And stay here as a table or a lamp
Forever doomed to your sighs and caring eyes
And not complain at all.
I want Mother to shout at me when I have a messy room
And I want Brother to be mad when I am the first to enter the shower.
And I want you, Father, to warn me about life
To tell what is and what is not
And to guide me through it all
Until I am finally prepared to stop asking questions
And start answering them.
But if you let me, I wanted to ask you one last thing.
Where am I, Father?
Where are we?

Sem comentários:

Enviar um comentário