PARALLEL
SOLITUDE Rambling for the center of Goiânia, in one late darkened, the banks of the avenue invite to a rest that
brings to the eyes the landscape of the day. The instant is full of smoke, the reality is hard, raw, poluída. Exactly thus the birds sing in this great sphere of concrete, are a call for the weeds, heart ache, ache... Olheiras, beggars, neckties, all run for the nothing. The media explores the hope of them... I look a humanity there... I envy the
beggar who sings happy... wanted to hug it (discrimination It smells badly, but if he feels perfumed, perpetual... The world if makes and undoes in particles and fragrances... It aches strong, we are equal. I smell the hand, it is I smell or stench? The
solitude of it and mine, we are equal... The wind blew the beggar, blew my hand, passed between everything and all, if it fired... Also I want to go... I cannot question the deepenings of God, (somebody said). Then why? Religions without hope, God, beggars... The certainty of now is a happy beggar, a perfumed hand, a perpetual wind that spreads homesickness, equality, poetry and hope...