Somewhere closer to near but far,
I come from new names of old lands,
Oceans, islands, continents,
Snow and sand.
Between the blood spilled
for selfish reasons,
the crucifixion of sheep
as camouflage for our fears;
Home…
The place I come from …
Sometimes its people disappear
with the wind,
Its shape shifts from blinks to tears
And whenever it does so
it turns me into a foreign,
again.
That’s how I get lost;
how I get home;
simply to leave
again.
I come from seashells,
different smells,
Tastes, colors,
Fetishes in the spotlight,
the holy of brothels!
Where I come from…
I sleep naked,
covered by 3 blankets,
waking up sweaty.
I wear boots at the beach,
Slippers at parties
and I’m barefoot in the streets.
Never ugly, nor pretty,
the eccentric, the exotic
Neither usual, nor repugnant,
yet intriguing, deceiving.
The place I come from
is a loop, a pattern in space,
not very different from here,
quite similar actually!
It feels good to be back
for the first time;
Again.
By Caio Leão