Falar da distância não é fácil, quando é ela que fala por nós. Já passaram alguns dias desde que atracámos nesta fronteira de mar. Eu permaneci afastado do caminho: encontrei aqui raízes minhas: as minhas mãos dizem que não, mas o meu corpo diz que se lhe estalaram os ossos quando os pés tocaram o chão firme - os olhos turvaram com o peso da gravidade.
De cabeça tombada de encontro à quilha quebrada, vi os meus dois companheiros entrar no pomar de romanzeiras que esboçava sorrisos ao vê-los chegar.
Se capturar emoções tão à flor da pele, que já elas são a própria pele, é difícil, não menos árduo é o trabalho de as preparar para que daqui possam partir de cabeça erguida sem receio das quedas do caminho.
De onde estou, sinto os passos do jorri e do miro, enclausurados entre árvores, a esgrimir o ruído da noite; a coser vestidos e a enfeitar o palco. Magoa-me não os poder acompanhar nesta parte da demanda.
Espaçadamente, um deles retorna à fronteira da esperança e traz-me uma romã recém colhida: os meus dentes recebem-na com expectativa. Será que o coração reconhece o sangue que aos dedos enviou e agora lhe retorna do calor da refrega? Mesmo com estilhaços de tempo cravados nas pernas e marcas de paixão nos ombros?
Agora ele aflui para não voltar a sair. Mas a visão ainda é turva e as árvores ainda não contaram tudo.
À partida conto sempre com o pior, mas espero que assim não seja. Herdei da minha mãe uma total descrença no ser humano, mas estou sempre à espera de ser surpreendido; e é esta esperança que embala a água salgada que de vez em vez me vem visitar junto à quilha quebrada.
Tenho os lábios secos de tanto esperar e a boca a transbordar com o aroma doce das romãs que me vêm oferecer.
JoãoRui
© Sofia Silva, Terra Fértil I, 2009Days without recollection
Speaking of distance is not easy when it is her that she speaks for us. Some days have passed since we’ve reached this sea border. I kept out of the way: I found my roots here: my hands say no, but my body says its bones shattered when my feet touched the firm ground – my eyes are blurry with the weight of gravity.
With my head against the broken keel, I saw my two companions going into the orchard of pomegranates that were outlining smiles as they arrived.
If capturing raw emotions is difficult, not least is the hard work preparing them to leave this place with a high brow, without fearing the falls of the way.
From where I stand, I feel the steps of jorri and Miro strung between trees, fencing the noise of the night; sewing dresses and decorating the stage. It hurts me not to follow them in this part of the quest.With time, one returns to the border of hope and brings me a freshly harvested pomegranate: my teeth receive them with expectation. Does the heart recognize the blood he sent to the fingers and now returns from the heat of the melee? Even with fragments of time carved on the legs and marks of passion on the shoulders? Now he flows in, not to go out again. But the vision is still blurred and the trees have not told everything. At first I always count with the worst, but hope that it will not be so. I inherited from my mother a total disbelief in the human kind, but I'm always waiting to be surprised; it is this hope that rocks the salty water that from time to time comes to visit me near the broken keel.
My Lips are dry from waiting and my mouth overflows with the sweet aroma of pomegranates that I have been offered.
Speaking of distance is not easy when it is her that she speaks for us. Some days have passed since we’ve reached this sea border. I kept out of the way: I found my roots here: my hands say no, but my body says its bones shattered when my feet touched the firm ground – my eyes are blurry with the weight of gravity.
With my head against the broken keel, I saw my two companions going into the orchard of pomegranates that were outlining smiles as they arrived.
If capturing raw emotions is difficult, not least is the hard work preparing them to leave this place with a high brow, without fearing the falls of the way.
From where I stand, I feel the steps of jorri and Miro strung between trees, fencing the noise of the night; sewing dresses and decorating the stage. It hurts me not to follow them in this part of the quest.With time, one returns to the border of hope and brings me a freshly harvested pomegranate: my teeth receive them with expectation. Does the heart recognize the blood he sent to the fingers and now returns from the heat of the melee? Even with fragments of time carved on the legs and marks of passion on the shoulders? Now he flows in, not to go out again. But the vision is still blurred and the trees have not told everything. At first I always count with the worst, but hope that it will not be so. I inherited from my mother a total disbelief in the human kind, but I'm always waiting to be surprised; it is this hope that rocks the salty water that from time to time comes to visit me near the broken keel.
My Lips are dry from waiting and my mouth overflows with the sweet aroma of pomegranates that I have been offered.
