Poem By Sirlanio Jorge Dias Gomes
Browsing the pages of memory,
Still a boy in his mischief,
I remember the simplicity of the old days,
From the lamp and the wood stove,
Of the innocent jokes,
And the likes of Grandma.
The beauty of life in puerile traits,
From the wound in the adventures without fear,
Of freedom to be without fear.
The colors were different,
In these pollutants,
Of decadent sick people,
Disfiguring the good life.
We were children's children,
In his grandiose dreams,
Fancy and fun.
The old road, the old friend,
The old house in its flavors,
Simple tastes in mildness.
Time without time,
Everything changed and the memories stayed,
Perennial sunset in their destinations,
Where the tone of the cantiga de roda was lost,
From the old habits of dignity,
In deep respect for senna,
Children desolate in their silences,
Suffocated in their wisdom,
Left in the open,
In the eyes of the energetic,
Suicidal suicide fects of the century.