Whenever the night comes, the thought approaches,
the one that haunts and agitates me in the last days,
the one that makes me reflect, enchant, dream,
even try to put into poetry what I don't know how to speak.
Closer and closer, this East.
More and more the reflex of deja vu,
he will become real “Delenda est Carthago”, I hear,
hiss in my ear like a whisper from desert sands,
breezes…
Every reflection, I control the agitation,
every manifestation makes me want to go, just
drop everything, go now, fantasize inside enchanted tents,
to the tempting whispers that this artist faces.
Stories, truths, lies are exchanged,
what does it matter? was erased in the weather of the revolting sands.
I remain watching the gloom of night,
and my thoughts closer to East,
sands… fantasy… enchantment…
I let myself go, or stay.
- Irina Marques
republication
Today a curious phenomenon happened in the north of my country, the sky appeared with a strange color, it reminded me of this text I wrote a few years ago. I still remember when I flew over the skies of Africa and that yellow mantle spread across the horizon. Today I felt the deserts calling to me again.
Today the sky of Braga was like this.