Karl Keshava – Late lightning

i wanted to write about
an assassin’s face type of guy…

besides his scary face
he had a tender, soft heart.

felt in love miserably
for a prostitute from the 7th Street.

after going thru hell with an unanswered love
– no cash in his pockets, no beauty in his face –
he died alone by a lightning stroke!

Open hearted letter

I feel old. So old.  Right now I could have 93. The weight of the world upon my shoulders. I’m hunchbacked. I need a cane to drag myself around.

I‘m old within. I saw so much sorrow in my days… Immeasurable pain and just little relief.

I saw myself crying. In bed, in rain. Alone, accompanied, in vain. Until my eyes were red, my tears dried out, until I had no air.

I let despair guide me. My pain, my cane. The only thing I had to hold on to. To keep me real, to make me feel.

I wanted to feel. I wanted to ache, to sob, to burn. To die and never come back. To die without notice, in the dark. No tears, no notes.

I didn’t. I did not. I’m here – alive. And although I feel like 65 now I’m crawling my way up again as I write these words down.

I‘m fun. I’m smart. I learn quick and have a pure heart. I wish people well, I cry with their misery. I’m the most empathetic person you’ll ever meet.

I read, I write. I know good music. I’m fun. I laugh a lot and make people laugh with me. Sometimes I even think I’m pretty in some twisted way.

I forget this things easily too. It may be because of my age. But I’m here. I’m fighting against all odds.

I‘m not always winning. Oh, no. Some days darkness comes by – just to say Hi! It’s there, hiding in the corner of my weak heart. I have to watch it close otherwise it haunts me again.


When you think I’m crazy, yes! Maybe I am. But I stumbled through so much you’d think I’m pretty sane.

When you don’t want understand what even I can’t explain… Well, maybe it’s not our fault – we’re just exploring new terrain.

When you run away without warning, you’re leaving me alone in the rain.

When you don’t give your attention to me and waste the friendship I thought we were trying to built that’s your loss too.

When you feel threatened by me, don’t. I wouldn’t trapped or hurt you, ever. I’m like no other that came before in your way.

When you don’t talk it’s your fault. Tell me. Tell me always. I’m open to whatever may come.


So, I have a treat: let’s walk this together? As friends, as lovers, whatever may be. Shall we?

Tranformação ou A árvore que virou semente


Tahaki Reserve – New Zealand

sou a árvore na margem
e o rio pede passagem.
revolto e inconstante,
caudaloso e vibrante.

o vento vem me chacoalhar
o rio as minhas folhas a levar…
(como o invejo, amaldiçoo!)
e eu, parada,
onde não queria estar.

o tempo passa,
eu envelheço,
crio casca,

mas não me mexo…
não me mexo,


Quando acordo
não sou eu.
Sem folhas,
sem galhos,
sou semente dita morta
levada pelo vento.

muito tempo demorei,
terras distantes visitei,
flores encontrei,
de espinhos desviei.

e em meio a vulcões e montanhas
terra fértil encontrei.

em meio a lembranças e futuro, brotarei.
as magoas esquecerei, frutificarei.
morrerei em paz com o rio que um dia invejei.

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You can read the translation by clicking here.