VERB OF BEING NOTHING LISTENING TO SILENCE # GRAÇA FONTIS: PAINTING Manoel Ferreira Neto: AFORISME

If today the northeastern wind turns,

The most beloved among the winds,

for me, because, with a fiery spirit,

promise me a good trip through the valley of orchids,

In addition, where on the narrow bank there is a pier,

And the stream sinks in the current;

But from the top a noble pair of chestnut trees

And white poplars watch the world;

If today, in the shelters where the swarms nest,

Bees nourish maribonds that follow everywhere,

Works of evil,

I store in my womb the fruit of others' feathers.

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If today is the inspiration of the beautiful

That reduces the horizon of clear rays of Being,

That consumes the specters of the sublime,

Life metaphorizes, literalizes the moment of divin-itudes,

Intertextualizes the instant of nothingness and the etherealizing being,

The fading verse and poem,

The prose and the prosaic structures dissolving;

If today is the truth of love passion

That seduces the celestial of clear nulls of the absolute,

Pleasures, joys intertwine in the living wheels

Of wisdom and wisdom, reaching the supreme

Silence ..., essence-eidos of the serene and soft spirit

That glimpses, visualizes the unconscious of synagogues

In the bright light of genesis strumming the strings

Of the violin, reciting the song of songs,

Poetizing Pauline love.

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If today is the imperfect temple of me

Who receives the illumination of the verb and source of water,

The abyss that announces the perennial

Dawn on the mountain sill,

Dawn at the edge of the pampas,

Awake on the threshold of the hinterland,

Wake up on the threshold of the desert,

And I am the absolute from nothing to light

Of all the dreams, hopes that I carry within me;

If today is the inspiration of passion love

That resides on the border of remembrance and forgetfulness

Food in the interstices of my soul

From the sap of the aesthetics of desires, wills

And I fulfill the desire for omni wisdom

In the open arms of the playful voluptuousness of being a verb.

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Nothing

More dreamy than my heart.

He dreams of love, the truth of love that dwells in him,

Deliver and receive feelings, emotions,

Donating tenderness, dedication, affection, affection,

Sensitive correspondence, reciprocities of the spirit.

Love is sensitive, love is to sensitize sensitivity,

Live the tender embrace, affectionate, affectionate.

Love is not feeling the desire, the will to surrender,

Love is surrender, and my heart is surrender,

You are surrendering to the voluptuousness and ecstasies of my being,

To the observances of the mundane cosmos,

I feel it, I don't verbalize it, I don't analyze it,

I don't interpret it, I don't criticize it,

I feel it in me, I feel it present

Deep inside me.

The chest gasps convulsively,

Ideas and thoughts right now

They are pure dreams, hopes,

That dream of happiness,

Happiness of feeling the purest truth of my soul,

That hope of communion,

Adherence to being loved, one-sided,

To be one in us.

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Nothing

More intense than passion love

Nothing

More inspiring than grace-love

Nothing

More splendid than the sparkle of the spirit

- verb-to-be -

Nothing

More revealing than the dimension of the divine

Illuminating the wasteland of the eternal synagogues

- verb to be nothing -

Nothing

Kinder than the sensations

From the underground spirit emerging from the caves

Unaware unconscious of penances.

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Nothing

More po-ethical than the feeling of caritas

Versifying the sensitivity of the infinite of Being

Nothing

Nothing more than nothing changing the truths

Resurrection, redemption, death being

The heavenly principle and virtue,

Being on the right side of God,

Nothing

More revealing than life itself means

Remembering the elm forest bending

The extensive summit, over the mills.

Nothing

More sublime than the spirit of po-iesis

Conceiving from dews the truth of delivery

Nothing

More perfect than the contingent imperfection of happiness

Outlining paraclit searches in vivid colors

Of pleasures, ecstasies, pleasure, estiasias

Nothing

More aesthetic than the love of the truth of the verb

One and Verso that are projected on the other of needs and loneliness

Nothing

More transcendent than the contingency of pain, suffering

Projecting himself on the mirror threshold of absolute desires,

Nothing

More than just talking and saying what

Go in the heart and hear many things

About the day of love

And the deeds that happened.

#RIO DE JANEIRO, APRIL 23rd 2020, 11:17 a.m.#