Poem / Poema - The busybody, Alex Spindler

The poetry of everyday coming from everywhere as the wind that blows and brings new emotions, feelings, and curiosity, sometimes just like a light breeze at dawn. Sometimes like a hurricane announcing a storm in the evening. The VENTOS POÉTICOS comes to manifest what is the soul of each human being, what was, what is and what will be melody in the whistle of the wind at each corner of the world.

Cristiano Rosa

A Intrometida

Teimava em me seguir, sem demora, perceberia
Tinha gestos gentis, era simpática, para alguns bela
Não queria assustar, andava com cautela
Diferente do andar da maioria

Por muito tempo recusei fazer-lhe companhia
Embora me fosse querida ela
Em horas de descanso, não gostava dela
Insistia muito no cansaço e na calmaria

Seu nome? Não sabia. Apelidei-a intrometida
Por vezes eu lhe fechava a porta, fechava a cara
Insistia em negar-lhe o que sabia

No espelho, certo dia, na minha frente postou-se
- O que queres? Perguntei. Respondeu-me com voz doce:
- Eu me chamo Velhice e vim para ficar, sabia?!

The busybody

She insisted to follow me, no longer I would realize
She had kind gestures; she was nice, for some people beautiful.
She didn`t want to scare me, she used to walk cautiously
A different walking from the majority

For a long time I refused making her company
Although she was dear to me
In rest time I didn`t appreciate her
She used to insist a lot in tiredness and calmness

Her name? I didn`t know. I used to call her busybody
For a long time I closed the door, I got a long face
I insisted denying her what I knew

In the mirror, one day, in front of me she stood
- What do you want? – I asked. She answered me in a sweet voice
- My name is oldness and I came to stay. Did you know?

Alex Sandro M. Spindler

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