s not like this,

So remote

For me,

It is

Writing!

MY WRITING

IT'S A (AUTHENTIC) DOOR

OPEN

 I

Of so many

Facts,

Your sum

Takes me

In the treaties

Of the day

By day

And perfect me

In all

What hurts me

In this world.

II

My writing

It's not just (just) the ink

That slides

over white paper,

But also a door

Left open

For a manjaco

In full delivery

To the noble cause

From your intrinsic

Timbre.

III

I am thank you

Writing

Not to perish,

Or, not to forget

All

What is happening to me,

Or perhaps

To forget

My hard

Bitterness.

IV

the writing

It's hunger

That shakes me;

It's the thirst

To a jug of water without volume.

PÓVOA DE SANTO ADRIÃO (TUESDAY, 4:40 PM), 10/14/14.

                               KANKAMBAL MATTOS (NDO)