AGONY


AT THE DISTANCE THAT SEPARATES US,
IT'S MY GREAT MOMENT.
I WILL BUILD A BRIDGE OF TEARS,
TO BRING IT TO ME.

MAYBE A PONTE D'AGUA,
SUPPORT THE WEIGHT OF THIS WITHOUT END.

LIFE IS AS SHORT AS A WIND GUSH,
I DO NOT KNOW IF I AGREE,
THESE DISTANT MOMENTS,
ONLY WITH THE REMINDER OF YOUR SEMBLANT.

                                         

Dedicated to my granddaughter Maria Alice


Francisco Gouveia




THE TODAY OF YESTERDAY.


So much pride, so much vanity for nothing.
If she was queen of the world, and in a second everyone had to lie down at her feet.
On snapping, but that was over.

The beauty has expiration date: the age.
What a beautiful time it took.
If you have planted friendship, you will have as many as the beauty that has passed.
If not, only loneliness is left.

Even the mirror that reflects you is your enemy.
You do not have the courage to look at your face,
Look only at the navel,
A cleft in the body where happiness escaped.


                           Francisco Gouveia




COME HERE!


Come here! Bring your body to me.
I want to hear your heart, your breath close to me.
I want to warm up in your heat ... but I also want to make love.
Glue my lips to yours, your teeth taste your tongue as if they were mine.

I want to kiss your breasts, lose myself in the middle of your body,
Feeling quite dead of pleasure,
I want to be happy and make you happy too.
Life is so short, and short is also pleasure.

                         Francisco Gouveia




THE TRAIN OF LIFE


The train of my life takes me to the end of the world,
In a second when I begin to imagine.
On the rails lying on the sleepers,
Beneath my warm blanket,
Reality becomes absent,
When I start to dream.

Life is fleeting, not always in the class first,
Not the second, maybe the third.
Maybe someday I can travel, where I know there.
But everyone has a certain destination ...
The only difference is when the time of that hour will come.

The train of my life takes me to the end of the world,
In a second when I begin to imagine.
On the rails lying on the sleepers,
Beneath my warm blanket,
Reality becomes absent,
When I start to dream.

                                                                   Francisco Gouveia

THE CLAIM OF THE SOUL




Look at the world through a window,
And just for her, wanting to see life.
Mute, speechless to the world,
No words to babble.
Not for a second do I understand,
Like here I came to stop.

Stuck in a yellow cell, prison,
That time does not want to pass, loneliness.
Arrested the circumstances of not wanting to listen,
What the world wanted to teach me. To doubt.

What a pity! Pay the penalty in seclusion,
I suffer with hard pains,
The pains of my heart.
Loving those who do not want him is eternal detention.

               Francisco Gouveia




EH! Mother.

  

I crossed the hinterland with a suitcase in my hand,
Cross the prairies to peddle,
Selling lingerie on brothels and houses of little fame,
Selling panties and bra for lady women.
To please your customers in bed.
From city in city of Pernambuco to Paraíba.
She sold on the whore's rest or at work with another "pro riba"
But he kept selling, did not mix fun with work,

Single as born, respectful and listener to my mother.
Who always told me: Look for a woman of respect.
The character of a woman is neither in the ass nor in the breasts.
My work was my motto and my life.
First I make my stocking foot.
Then I get married and live in jail.
Because no woman in the world will want to stay
Up and down walking on the back of a donkey,
Just like I do.

But one day I spoke with mother I'm going to change my course I'm going to sell in Bahia,
I stumbled out into the open,
Accompanying the bed of the São Francisco River, I left.
A village here and there, I sold what I gave to sell.
It seemed that fate pushed me down the river without rest.
At last I came to a city named Remanso.
I had little to sell, but a lot of need to survive.
I hurried to the whorehouse, I was sure to get my money.
Well received, I spread the products and in a few minutes sold everything.

Inside a brunette coming out looking like a mermaid asked me:
And there is nothing left for me.
And I said unto him, There is nothing left but me.
Then I want to: she said.
It was little talk, I gathered her things,
With a burning heart
I put it on the Donkey's back.
And I left for home.

I've never felt that way before, With that burning coal burning in my chest.
Twisting the heart.
I had heard of such passion. But that was the way it was not.
But when I got to Willow I had money
And a woman to love.
I went to sell, but fate just bought me.

When I got home, my mother went through
At the door.
He measured Iracema from top to bottom. And said:
Looking at me, Eita Bahia! I knew my son that you would one day get lost, and he laughed.
Iracema was well received and well accepted,
Mother made the bed to bed.
I discovered what happiness was, what it was to love,
If love is blind, what Iracema was before, he did not let it see.

But after about three months Iracema disappeared,
My mother said to me: She saw: the woman of life does not get used to a home. Do you think I did not know where she came from?
 You are not Jesus for this Mary Magdalene to accompany you.
Ah! As I cried, my happiness ran down the stream.
I'll get back to peddling and not getting involved with anyone else.
My work will be my only good.

After a few days already late at night
Someone knocked on the door.
Who was? Iracema! On your lap a little girl
Eyes black as night and he called me father,
Completely disarmed me.
My mother she called Grandma, her voice seized gave a knot,
I thought my mother would faint, but it was a sigh.

Iracema told me that she went to get her daughter to raise her family and the happiness of her heart.
I was afraid I would not let it and without her daughter I could not stay.
But looking at my mother clinging to that girl,
Life teaches, there are things that can not even comment.
Happiness is so much, it is so much that gave even to waste
My mother won two more grandchildren,
I and Iracema have been dreaming for twenty years.
I have my own store, the women now that
The lingerie comes fetch.
When a woman comes in the shop, my mother is watching me, I say:
Eh! Mother does not even have to recommend me.

                                                      Francisco Gouveia





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Life! A dead end.



Walking through the dirty alleys of the city streets,
Where evil has its place.
The lie and the truth no one can tell.
Androgynous beings sell love.
The kind of love that can not be explained.

Nightclub, bar drinks and cafes, meeting of loners,
Meetings of perversos.
Where men are not men, nor women are women,
Exchange of absurd values.
Shouted mute, only listen to who is deaf,
Understand with your eyes who you want, who you want.

A painting, a graffiti in ink.
Work by an artist from Beijing, Maybe from Seoul or Ho Chi Min.
Picture of a child in the arms of another child. Mother!
A baby with oriental features,
Being offered to others, it's too much!

An alert image, which perhaps the city,
Want to fix uncertain life;
Of the rapes, prostitutions, debaucheries of the night,
Nights of thieves, pimps and prostitutes.
The march of uncertainties and their struggles.
The lonely nights of empty lives.
They exchange the night life and let themselves die for the day.

From my apartment in the middle of the city I see the world
And its irregularities.
I breathe in the smoke from cars and inhaled drugs.
I see lost lives in the gutter,
Looking through the windowpane I also see my life stagnant.
Standing over the dirty alleys of the city.
I see there are lives that are worthless.

                                                                   

                                                                                                       Francisco Gouveia




L I F E


The more I run the greater the distance,
Desperate run behind hope,
In search of my dreams since childhood.
The years pass so quickly, where my childhood was.

The body goes through a mutation,
The joviality of life was lost on the road.
My hair is losing its color,
The love of my love is past history.

Green of my eyes fogs the horizon,
Stiffening my body complains, "Let's wait for the desires and the hope in bed."
"Maybe a dream come true in a sleep
  Rather, "let the sun of life be set."

The more I run the greater the distance,
Desperate run behind hope,
In search of my dreams since childhood.
The years pass so quickly, where my childhood was.


                                                    Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)






PUNISHMENT


I dedicated my life to yours.
I was not ashamed, until I screamed his name on the street.
I never imagined. To love as I have loved you.
I lost you, and I do not know where I went wrong.

My heart is now a hole in the moon soil,
Empty, cold uninhabited.
An abandoned dog on the street ... barking.
At the door of the house to enter. No one is.

Solitude took hold of the key, the door of my heart,
He blocked out all love, all passion.
There was only the echo of pain and disappointment left.
If loving you again is punishment ... punish me then.

                                           

                                                                                               Francisco Gouveia




SWEET PARIS.


The sweet Paris I always wanted,
To see.
The beautiful Frenchwoman with Thai eyes,
That I wanted to understand,
Walking the streets that are not yours,
Who are from Algeria yes.
What plurality and anxiety left in me.
If it were not for the Tower he would say to be in an endless East.
In Dublin or Lisbon even Rome or Madrid.
  Sweet Paris that I always wanted,
To see.
I do not think I've ever been here.


                                                                       ( Francisco Gouveia Brasil)


TODAY




TO VISIT YOUR BODY
LOVE



To visit your body, love,
I bring my hands well filled with heat like tickets.
Lips trembling, fear of not being able and love not worth.

I want to lick you in cribs,
Speak to you in verses,
To pray in thirds
Miss me half of your beautiful body,
Kiss your breasts, feel really dead

For tomorrow, come back early.
Your body visit this time without fear.

ATUALIZE


Me informa a forma de tuas formas.
O desenho de teu corpo.
As curvas...
A cor dos teus olhos, o gosto do teus lábios.
A medida do meu desejo tem que ser compatível
com o teu beijo.
Mande-me por e-mail um formulário em duas vias;
Para satisfazer a minha curiosidade e manter minha paixão em dia.



Francisco Gouveia





NEWBORN



SING A SLEEPING SLEEP,
  THAT OLD GOOD THAT MAKES DREAMING.
PICK ME IN YOUR ARMS.
IN AN ETERNAL EMBRACE OF LOVE.
MAKE ME YOUR BABY AND TEACH ME TO LIVE.

I AM A PIECE OF YOUR BODY
AN ILLUMINATED SMILE,
AN ENCHANTED SWEET KISS.
AN ARTWORK OF YOUR HEART.
OF ALL LOVES THE GREATEST PASSION.

Francisco Gouveia (Brazil)

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