critical analysis

Who are these people
Who insist on defining you
as good or bad,
worthy, trustworthy?
Who are these people
Who think they are God,
Able to say where you fit, misfit,
How you have to portray yourself,
in tie, black-tie,
lead yourself.
Who are these people
who sit besides and imagine they are more
who live and dress to superior looking others
who know them better.
Who are these dressed up people who betray you
at the very first opportunity?
Who are these people who find themselves
walking through life on some special carpet
entitled to something
you are not.
Who are these people
Who have a concept prior to any of your comments
’cause they will not allow you
to say what is deeply ingrained in your mind.
Who are these people
who believe they are more
wondering inside themselves
their real ideas are made of grass,
brass,
and for a slip of second,
you,
the entitled self,
Can just walk on by,
Seeing nothing else than the scenery
Knowing profoundly that nothing else exists.
Don’t cheat yourself
putting value on something
you don’t know other than soil,
mud
just made to exist.

MINDING THE GAP IN THE SNOW

MINDING THE GAP IN THE SNOW.

MINDING THE GAP IN THE SNOW

When I got lost

In your dream,

You reported the silence, the search in the plains,

the white all over,

The long white lines in the horizon,

Not even a pile of ice

Around, I laughed,

Juggling with your entire anguish.

Now I see

The feeling of the missed

Not even being introduced to it,

Surrounded by the same apocalyptic illusion

That all is well,

Where the snow is not even noticed

Just the orange color of the desert.

Celebrate the life,

Dear Soul

Before the first fresh breath you have ever taken.

Celebrate the ones who are

Concerned, sharing the worries,

Of the “wherever you are”.

Driving on the wrong direction,

Following the other side,

The other lane,

The other role,

The other “not even knowing”.

Rejoice the ‘no lights’,

No shells,

No reservations,

To where life drives you

And becomes to be.

 

By Lilian Schreiner

CARNIVAL

I hear so many noises

Cars roaring around,

Bikes roaming

And trucks announcing the frisson of life.

A choir at a distance reminds

Church’s voices

Or would be some samba school train of thoughts? or somber songs?

Better saying: chi-tum, chi-tum, chi-tum…

I hear both coming down

Heavily now,

All “Beija-Flor” drumming sounds strongly alive now,

Rimming sentences to Christ and all saints

Plus their partners in heaven.

Samba mimics prayers and the song goes on louder

Mixing up with some new vibrational inspiration.

The “Bem-te-vi” tells me he sees me and the chirping

Blends up with the mumbling Beija-flor choir,

Lovely colors partying in line.

So I stay quietly meditating.