Fe de Erratas

Lo que parece no es lo que es... esto lamentablemente no es un blog o una página de internet, o por lo menos no lo es todavía... hasta ese momento - donde este "espacio" no siga poniendose a punto, o en construcción - leamos algo...


Algo de Pessoa...

Flashes of Madness

When thou seest me spend hours
holding in a feverish glance
thy mouth or teerh, or thy hand
Andnotest how my sould devours
Whit a sleeness like to trance
The commonest things that stand,

And askest what in them i see
that into each my spirit delves
As if each had a mystery,
thou err'st in thy conjecturings,
For what ever obsesses me
Is not things in their weary selves
But the being there of things.

Eyes are Strange things.
Meaning in them becomes life,
Life in them has wings.
Look at me thus. Thy glance is mad and rare.
Thine eyes show deep and wild and inner strife.
How they are more than Horror fair!

My child, I see thine eyes upon
A shadow as cast by the wings
When a swift bird passes close by
Th castlewindow before the sun:

So through thy glance th shadows fly...

Th souls of things dead and bygone
Haunt the appearences of living things.

Fernando Pessoa.


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