quarta-feira, 21 de julho de 2010

Dialogue

- Mom, what's life? How can I define?
- Hummm... when you grow up, honey, your're going to see that life ,indeed, is such a lovely mess.
- But...is it going to hurt?
- A lot.
- So, why should I be alive? Why do we grow up?
- Because life is also a lost piece of poetry, dear.
- Mom!! Great! Can I look for it? For the poetry?
- Yes, sweetheart , but now you're only six years old. Don't worry about that. Go to your toys.
- Ok, Mom. But what's poetry?
- Poetry , honey... is the only thing that save us from bad things when we grow up.
- I think I got it, mom. Poetry is like a pill, right?
- Yes, my little bee.
- Can I go now? Can play in the garden and talk to my flowers there?
- Sure! Have fun.



E. Alvarez

4 comentários:

Letícia disse...

Eu queria poder voltar para os meus brinquedos. =/

Thais Souza disse...

"(...) Poetry , is the only thing that save us from bad things when we grow up (...)"

Aliviante, depois de um dia rotineiro e cansativo, termos a poesia como nosso refúgio!
Lindo texto! ;)

Beijos

Wellington Júnior disse...

"- So, why should I be alive? Why do we grow up?"

Mesmo "adulto" ainda não saberia responder essa pergunta.
Esse texto traz um diálogo aparentemente tão inocente, mas tão profundo...
Gostei.
Muito bom.

orwell disse...

"This piece of poetry is meant to do harm" bjs, V