green dreans of a sheep . - by caio fernandes.
the sun turned into a merry whisper - not yet
the sun turned into a red whisper - no
the sun turned into a berry whisper . whispers-set behind her purple trees . her whispers , her kiss ( her kisses reveal landscapes in me ) . warm curves of the path , for a straight destiny . warm curves of the female ........ i' m lost .
the transparency of the wings that blows fron my back covering the both hemispheres of this sweet blue green taste . tastes like eternity in bloom .
when Saskia extends her hand it reflects the light of her dreans as a swimming pool . i can even see those reflections dancing on the ceiling .
the black wet stinky disgusting asfalt's mud on shoulders and neck .
- what is this comig fron the top of my head? blood!!?!!
-they are comig again , dad , i see shadows of bodys on the corner.
- hide yourself behind the garbage Melissa . be quiet .
- ohh no no , it isnt then . they aren't coming any more , i am pretty sure now , they went to the subway .
- you're ok , aren't you ?don't tell your mother about this . she is preparing a apfel strudel for the dinner's dessert .
- look dad ! the concrete is cracking everywhere . sidewalk , walls .... there are tinny blue flowers , and yellow , and white growing in it .... is the concrete geting old , dad ?
- yes honey ... and our time to live is coming .
- amen ( and started the singing : grun grun grun grun ist meine welt ... grun grun grun grun ist meine ....)
- AMEN .
the Jesus white light stands me up . i just keep walking , holding the child's hand . i just keep walking against the poluited wind that snarls against us . it is always solitarie to feel like to cry , and hold in silence . Sao Paulo is a altar of sacrifice in the form of a dusty concrete block in this world that is suposed to be beautiful . my body lives in Sao Paulo , keeps walking . while i build the green dreans of a sheep . thank you Lord for your blessings . thank you for give me one more chance .
- we are going to eat apfel strudel for dessert , aren't we , dad ?
- yes we are , honey . YES WE ARE.
the sun turned into a merry red berry whisper ... it is so easy to love her yet .
ok girls , don't panic . i am still single . Saskia is the only one that realy happened in my life , but ... now al the time i am with another woman , what is rare , and she start's to gets on my nerves , i get deaf and blind and pretend Saskia is there .
( Saskia Hagenaars Verveen Morrone : 1977 - 2005 )
Melissa isn't my daughter . she is 8 years old and i am the only adult man that she met since she was 2 years old . to call me dad is her personal joke , she actualy doesn't believe in it (what is even sadier because i love her ) . her mother Cecilia is a widow that gives piano classes in her onw home for to live . and some times prepare italian or german recepies adapted for our vegan lifestyle , than she calls me for taste and trys to teach me how to prepare , but i never learn , i just preparie in home my onw bronw bread , green os white tea , and some vegetables ... and when i am loaded , feeling like to eat as a milionarie , i buy a doritos bag ( the large one baby!! yeah!!) .
between Cecilia and me , will never hapem anything : our friendship is too perfect to be destroyed by sex and wedding ( she says) . the truth is that she knows i still have this Saskia hole in me and she doesn't acept to be a mere substitute . what is fair enough . and she expects fron a man what her husband was , while i am the oposite of that . he was a wealthy successful guy , and i pray for the miracle of the multiplication on my painting materials as Jesus did with fishies and bread for the crowd ( what seens to works ) .
so we both are patetics and live haunted by our pasts . nothing bad for 2 people that have met at the college in 1997 , studing psichology .