Chant Of Disenchantment

By Mongiardim Saraiva

Singing is love, exaltation, peace and freedom. Disenchantment is everything that denies this dream and leaves a trail of sadness and discontent. Canção do Desencanto wants to transform this anguish and loneliness through poetry. In something pleasant, aesthetic and maybe even interesting ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jun 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071519134

Book preview

Foreword..................................2

CHANT I................................3

CHANT IX............................15

CHANT XVII........................27

CHANT XXV......................42

CHANT XXXIII..................54

CHANT XLI...................66

CHANT XLIX...............77

CHANT LVII..............87

CHANT OF DISENCHANTMENT

mongiardim saraiva

Foreword

Singing is love, exaltation, peace and freedom.

Disenchantment is everything that denies that dream and leaves a trail of sadness and discontent.

The Chant of Disenchantment wants to transform that anguish and solitude, through poetry. Into something pleasant, aesthetic and maybe even interesting...

The Author.

CHANT I

I am the silence of a shepherd

I keep my flock behind the hill

I use my colors freely

I think of the stars without being aware

I only take care of my loves

I watch the sky without metaphysics

I please myself in the wind's treat

I am a bird resting in life

Water that drips from my lament

When I spot the other lands

I mark the sheep in memory

And I hear the echo of their bleat

In the sun I write another story

I count the steps that will come

My dogs are like people

They take and bring my flock

They are angels that follow me closely

They open the path ahead

I want to leave to the star

An always open window

Through that distant immensity

I always want to be able to see them

Around my flock

In a delirious way

CHANT II

I exalt the coniferous forests

Of long and thin needles

Typical from the cold regions

Or tempered of the planet

Like the Christmas cards

I store in a drawer

To forget all evil

I wish I could plant flowers

In all mournings and horrors

Be able to smell and give away

With plain rose buds

Impregnated with a sweet scent

That reminded me of refined love

Dizzy and inebriated with the passions

I am hostage to my solid gates

That only open when I feel isolated

I am an attentive sentry and impregnated

By the scents that fly near me

My walls are blank and silent

Among the grass borns a bindweed

CHANT III

Even confined to the abyssal depths

Sometimes I grab use of my periscope

An eye pointed to so many normal eyes

Shrouded by a curtain in dense opium

Inside my submarine I wait for the sun

Even though I cannot feel it and embrace it

I am hostage of that shy and veiled clarity

And I'm immersed in