The Wall Of The Visitors Poem by Jonas Goncalves

Lying on the cool floor
and hoping that the locomotive
crossed our view,
we realize what the older enjoyed.

Gray stones show us
how much the landscape changed.
And too late the people wake up,
and too early the people discuss.

It was the fear and disdain
which provoked a bitterness
able to tear us apart from our friends.
It was the insanity of the visitors
which limited the peace of those faces.
It was a fool humanity
which deprived the happiness of those children.

At nine o'clock, the lights are gone out.
I come back home in a fog,
being followed by screams of loneliness
and, often, screams of panic.

At ten o'clock, I covet the sleep,
the tomorrow, the old age, but not the death!
Because even being sorrounded by madness,
I still hope a solution.

At eleven o'clock, my ravings drive me away.
Now I run the first escape from this prison,
destroying this forsaken wall.

At twelve o'clock, I delight to a deep pleasure
and I try to remember what I did in that dawn.
However, it seems to be an unreachable memory.

Inside this abyss:
aversions don't disappear,
memories don't return
and lovers don't survive.

We're the young who throw
their sorrows in the ocean.
What might be the world's nudity,
now is hidden
by the cruelest minds.
Bring to my feet the best of the infinity:
forgotten promises and inappropriate feelings.

From the window I watched the bricks fall
like leaves of a pleasant autumn.
It shivered the skin and silenced the screams,
screams of exaltation now.
And the escape is not needed anymore.