{"id":3094,"date":"2018-12-04T20:04:08","date_gmt":"2018-12-04T20:04:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/?p=1126"},"modified":"2023-12-21T13:16:28","modified_gmt":"2023-12-21T13:16:28","slug":"maria-do-sameiro-barroso-brazil","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/maria-do-sameiro-barroso-brazil\/","title":{"rendered":"MARIA DO SAMEIRO BARROSO, Portugal"},"content":{"rendered":"

MARIA DO SAMEIRO BARROSO, Portugal\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

THE SPROUTS OF HEAVEN<\/strong><\/p>\n

I pick the red berries of your heart
\nwhen you lay restless in your bed
\nand the moon is full, the night is bright,
\nthe breeze is calm, the leaves are true.
\nThen, whispers of light
\nunfold your dream,
\nand the sprouts of heaven grow
\ndeep in the earth
\nwhere sleep is sweet,
\nin the poppies shade
\nwhere I pick the berries,
\nsteal the stones of heaven,
\nwrap myself in jade, pearls,
\ndream of eternity,
\nand taste the blue,
\nthe sight of heaven,
\nin the crimson beatings
\nof your heart.<\/p>\n

BLUE VIOLINS<\/strong><\/p>\n

An angel carries me through the wide,
\nendless world,
\nhis wings touch the open darkness,
\nhis fingers move,
\nhis human breath is still alive.
\nAnd I go down into the deepest scars
\nof my face.
\nThat\u00b4s where he lives.
\nIn bright moon nights
\nI feel him living.
\nOnce we played in a bright
\nsunny house.
\nHe was with me as a golden star
\nin a dark sky.
\nHe was my twin.
\nI will never mourn him enough.
\nNow the childhood home
\nis closed
\nand dead birds come.
\nThey fill the house
\nwhile blue violins play
\nendless midnight songs
\nin September looms,
\nsweet scented gardenias
\nand cloths of May.<\/p>\n

A BIRD ACROSS MY FACE<\/strong><\/p>\n

Endless dreams, the purple heaven,
\na bird across my face
\nyour heart a wonder -,
\nthe miracle of life unfolding light
\nwhile you live in the shelters
\nof green, breathing, loving,
\nbringing the rain inside you.
\nEarth corrodes skeletons.
\nAnd you survive in the splendor
\nof light,
\nin the flowers of indigence,
\nin the stages of hunger.
\nYour heart is a deep, green
\nvalley,
\nyour sounds are a musical
\npiece,
\nyour dream is a white bird,
\npomegranate juice,
\na whisper of peace.
\nYour hands are blissful
\nfeelings of the earth.<\/p>\n

DWELLING OF THE RIVERS<\/strong><\/p>\n

Waters are my dwelling.
\nA body is my dwelling, a river,
\nan unsteady place
\nfacing an obscure front
\nto which I never return.
\nI choose nothing in the flame
\nthat crushes me.
\nI refuse nothing
\nin the night rose that dawns.
\nNo use running away
\nfrom drunken jasmine.
\nThere is a front, a place,
\na house to which I never return.
\nSprings are my dwelling,
\nI pursue candles, torches,
\nthe extreme brightness
\nwhere foam creates
\nthe inner stone
\nthat segregates the light, the sun,
\nthe steep moon,
\nand the crystalline flower
\nof turbulent bloom.<\/p>\n

A CHARIOT OF WATER<\/strong><\/p>\n

I am the etheric flesh,
\nwrapped in the feet of dance.
\nI move among the leaves,
\npursuing the patterns of gold.
\nI hide in the shadows of green light.
\nMy labor is to go through the fields
\nand dive into a mud,
\nas if it was a chariot of crystalline water.
\nThe horses of the night bring pain,
\nmanes, eternity.
\nThe sun is diving in a blue century,
\nthe world is a drunken movie,
\nthe flowers say good-night,
\nthe nightingales keep singing,
\nthe music flows.
\nAnd ripe dates go by.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

MARIA DO SAMEIRO BARROSO, Portugal\u00a0 THE SPROUTS OF HEAVEN I pick the red berries of your heart when you lay restless in your bed and the moon is full, the night is bright, the breeze is calm, the leaves are true. Then, whispers of light unfold your dream, and the sprouts of heaven grow deep […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":3632,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[171,162],"tags":[],"book_author":[],"book_publisher":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3094"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3094"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3094\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3631,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3094\/revisions\/3631"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3632"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3094"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3094"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3094"},{"taxonomy":"book_author","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_author?post=3094"},{"taxonomy":"book_publisher","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.iwabogdani.org\/sq\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/book_publisher?post=3094"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}