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| Caravela Portuguesa Latina de 2 mastros |
«Numa rota de fundo oscilante vai viajando pela vida, recolhendo-se em enseadas amorosas para não ser tolhido pelas tempestades e tormentas. Em cada porto itinerante abastece a sua nau de víveres atirando-se de imediato para o largo. O seu caminho não vai nem vem, é, como um imponderável deserto, cujas linhas se dissipam bafejadas pelo vento. Navega à luz, intermitente, prisioneiro da sua fé na altura e lonjura dos astros, medindo a sua marcha pelo tamanho dos seus remos que pediu, por medida, emprestados a seus pés. Quem és? Quem és? Que teus brados não encontram eco em nenhuma linha de horizonte. Veleja de mãos abertas à popa e à bolina, amarrando seu coração ao massame desgastado pelo uso e pelo tempo. Da Terra não tem vista, do céu que avista reflecte o mar, por onde, os albatrozes peregrinos o seguem por companhia. Lançadas ou recolhidas as âncoras se sente um peixe enredado na sua quotidiana faina. Quem és? Quem és ? Mas, só o silêncio, em uníssono, lhe responde.[noético-07/10/2014]
«On an oscillating background route, goes traveling through life, collecting in loving coves not to be hampered by storms and tempests. In each roving port supplies the vessel of food throwing himself immediately to the side. His path doesn't go or even come, is like an imponderable desert, whose lines dissipate, heated by the breath of the wind. Navigate to light, intermittent, a prisoner of his faith on the highs and remoteness of the stars, measuring its march by the size of its oars asked, by measure, lent to her feet. Who are you? Who are you? That your cries find no echo in any skyline. Sails of open hands aft and to windward, tying his heart to rigging worn by use and time. From the earth has no view, from the sky he sees reflects the ocean, where the pilgrim albatrosses follow as company. Released or collected the anchors, feels entangled in their daily toil fish. Who are you? Who are you? But only silence, replied in unison.» [noético-07/10/2014]
«On an oscillating background route, goes traveling through life, collecting in loving coves not to be hampered by storms and tempests. In each roving port supplies the vessel of food throwing himself immediately to the side. His path doesn't go or even come, is like an imponderable desert, whose lines dissipate, heated by the breath of the wind. Navigate to light, intermittent, a prisoner of his faith on the highs and remoteness of the stars, measuring its march by the size of its oars asked, by measure, lent to her feet. Who are you? Who are you? That your cries find no echo in any skyline. Sails of open hands aft and to windward, tying his heart to rigging worn by use and time. From the earth has no view, from the sky he sees reflects the ocean, where the pilgrim albatrosses follow as company. Released or collected the anchors, feels entangled in their daily toil fish. Who are you? Who are you? But only silence, replied in unison.» [noético-07/10/2014]
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