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Na fila das pedras (ingles vers.)

Devit had been teased a few times that day by a telephone that insisted on ringing and when answering was mute. He had already given up after the fifth call, there was work to be done and he could not delay any more.

They fell from pair to trio, they were thin but rough as the words of Devir. Given this intimate fact, the very young and not-so-ugly man had been relegated to a small house on the outskirts of the city. It was to her liking, the house and the situation. He only saw someone when he needed to go to the market and somebody who was unaware went to his house to order a furniture or arrangement carved in the wood.

Alora, oh fragile Alora! From fragile body to even a breeze the bedding, what really did mess up was his mind, strong and perceptibly deep. As a small-town she was a resident, many people there found Alora strange for having ideas about all things. He liked to spend the days worked to go to the local asylum to visit the elderly and discuss them with respect and wisdom.

Alora, oh fragile Alora!

Joaquim Ciqueira, 80, 79kg, 1,78m ... A small paper attached to the big toe of the body was all the identification that followed him through the corridors of the hospital. He was snorting, he did not want to die even though he had already finished. The cold metal of the table that carried it reflected in sequences between the opaque lights of the corridor until the morgue. If it were Joaquim, I would feel a piece of chicken going into the freezer. But what am I talking about? Dead do not feel!

I feel immensely because of the tragedy. This note followed by a long testimony until. In the opinion of Verner, the door-to-door milk salesman, newspapers serve only vain attempts to wipe off certain physiological havoc and from time to time mark the time.

She smoked on the table in a mug of flandre the warm milk on the cold Thursday morning, so the farm shoes that protected Amanda's cramped feet. The table was plentiful, and even with the poor finish of the house the food there kept everyone well, some more less.

But a guy who slept for a second at the wheel while he was crossing the headlight received the radiator impact of an old but large chevrolet, his documents rolling through the cabin as his body twisted in the middle of the metal, Gaston, 32, not married. She had never married.

The corridor between the benches in the church decorated with all sorts of white flowers with the priest next to the groom and the godparents await the bride, if for a moment she saw his heart, the priest would have eaten much less pig in his life. But no longer matter, five minutes later and were already calling the IML to drag the body, the bodies.

Each lined up drawing more and more dead, on silver tables like a silent and empty orchestra while out there in the cold, the beings weep and thrill with the terrifying silence of life.

Na fila das pedras

Devir fora importunado algumas vezes aquele dia por um telefone que insistia em tocar e ao atender ficar mudo. Já havia desistido de atender apos a quinta ligação, havia um trabalho a ser feito e que já não podia mais atrasar.

Caiam de par e em trio, eram finas mas ásperas assim como as palavras de Devir. Dado este fato íntimo, o homem mesmo jovem e não de todo feio acabara relegado a uma casinha nos limites da cidade. Era de seu gosto, a casa e a situação. Apenas via alguém quando volta e meia precisava ir até o mercado ou algum desavisado ir até sua moradia encomendar um móvel ou arranjo esculpido na madeira.

Alora, oh frágil Alora! De corpo frágil até mesmo uma brisa a punha de cama, o que de fato destoava era sua mente, forte e perceptivelmente profunda. Como de cidade pequena era residente, muitas pessoas de lá achavam Alora estranha por ter ideias sobre todas as coisas. Gostava entre os dias trabalhados ir até o asilo local para visitar os idosos e com eles debater com respeito e sabedoria.

Alora, oh frágil Alora!

Joaquim Ciqueira, 80 anos, 79kg, 1,78m... Um pequeno papel preso ao dedão do pé do corpo era toda a identificação que o seguia pelos corredores do hospital. Rumava empurrado, não tinha vontade de morrer mesmo o já tendo consumado. O metal frio da mesa que o levava refletia em sequencias entre as luzes opacas do corredor até o necrotério. Caso fosse Joaquim, me sentiria uma peça de frango indo ao congelador. Mas o que estou falando? Mortos não sentem!

Eu sinto imensamente pelo trágico ocorrido. Esta nota seguia por um depoimento longo até. Na opinião de Verner, o vendedor de leite de porta em porta, jornais servem apenas para tentativas vãs de limpar certos estragos fisiológicos e de vez em quando marcar o tempo.

Fumegava sobre a mesa em uma caneca de flandre o leite morno na manhã fria de Quinta, assim os sapatos também de quinta que mantinham protegidos os pés calejados de Amanda. A mesa era farta e mesmo com o pobre acabamento da casa os alimentos ali postos mantinham todos bem, uns mais outros menos.

Menos um sujeito que dormiu por um segundo ao volante que ao cruzar o farol recebeu em sua janela o impacto do radiador de um velho mas grande chevrolet, seus documentos rolaram pela cabine enquanto seu corpo se retorcia em meio ao metal, Gastão, 32 anos, solteiro. Nunca se casara.

O corredor entre os bancos na igreja enfeitados com toda sorte de flores brancas com o padre junto ao noivo e os padrinhos aguardam a noiva, se por um instante visse seu coração, o sacerdote teria comido bem menos porco na vida. Mas já não importa, cinco minutos depois e já estavam chamando o IML para arrastar o corpo, os corpos.

Cada um enfileirado atraindo mais e mais mortos, sobre mesas prata como uma orquestra silenciosa e vazia enquanto lá fora em meio ao frio, os entes choram e se emocionam com o silencio aterrador da vida.

A Primeira Luz (ingles vers.)

By Dan Cilva 

It was night when it all happened. 
I was welcomed between the covers, sleeping asleep. 

Tedy, like any stuffed animal, 
has the mission of protecting children of all ages all over the world, 

against terrible nightmares and monsters in the closet and under the bed. 
Such a creature was my teddy bear, given to me, 
by my father when I was born. 

To every corner of the house I and Tedy were going 
to have great adventures in our imaginary little world. 
Tonight would be no different. At dawn, 
the wind whistled against the window and 
unrolled it on the roof of the house, 
the shadow of the windbreaker taking shape against the wall. 

Like a trail of tar, it slipped, crawled, writhing and stretching, 
halting sinuously over the thick blanket that kept me warm. 
The plush animal watched oddly, 
every movement of the shadow across the bed. 

There was a flash of lightning and 
the creature made of shadow and fear, 
now bursting into the air like a blur that never existed. 
When I tried to tell my parents the next morning, 
they told me that it was all a pretty dream and that I should watch less television before bed. 

Months passed and I found myself surrounded by 
presents and a cake that indicated my age. 
Twelve years of healthy childhood and 
no worries greater than the gifts I would win the next Christmas. 

Too tired to play with cousins ​​and school friends, 
all very excited about the new video game, 
I fell asleep on the couch. 

When I woke up, I was already under the covers 
but Tedy was not there. 

He walked like his eyes all over the room. 
As if I lack the air, despair was taking place. 
I ran to the window with the repulsive idea 
that Mom had thrown Tedy in the trash and that without him, 
I was now an adult. 

I felt the chill take over my being and 
the shadow lay his icy and rough hands on my shoulders and 
drag me into the darkness. 

Today I'm in my nephew's room, 
it's night and I can only drag myself to him now. 

I need help, without my angel, 
I became what I feared most. 

Now I vague between existences, 

in search of a last light.

O Monstro (ingles vers.)

By Dan Cilva 

It burned a lot... the nails in my arms, in my hands. 
I remember between breaths the moment 
that I was dragged through the streets By half a dozen priests. 

The voices whine in the background 
With hate speech "kill the monster!" 

I'm the monster... 

In those days when my world was clothed with blood and 
Desire for blood, where my parents were taken from this world 
By the hands of my grandfather. 

All I wanted was to find him and 
That's what made me wander 
from war to war behind Vitorius. 

My vision is lost in the darkness and I see people in it, 
I hear these same people in their misshapen grunts. 

I'm tired, it's empty inside. 
There's too much room for all this anger in here. 

I can not feel the tips of my fingers... 

I lowered my head with the weight of my reverie. 
Something crawled through the rocks, 
She could feel his breath catching. 
I was tired and I saw all sorts of 
terrible images Hovering in my mind, 
and among these journeys there was one Ended up 
repeating itself for an eternity of time. 

They were walking in their long white robes and 
In their hands they carried candles. 
His ghostly features hung in obscure corridors 
Flanked by pictures and vast silverware, 
seemed to be looking for something. 

I heard a heavy sound of wood breaking through the darkness. 
One of them disappeared and 
the others were walking faster now desperate. 

You could hear the word "monster" whispered 
in the middle of the night.

O Monstro

Ardia muito... os pregos em meus braços, em minhas mãos. 
Lembro entre respiros o momento que eu fui arrastado pelas ruas 
por meia dúzia de sacerdotes. As vozes zuniam ao fundo 
com discursos de ódio "matem o monstro!".

Eu sou o monstro...

Naqueles dias em que meu mundo se revestiu de sangue e 
desejo por sangue, onde meus pais foram tirados deste mundo 
pelas mãos de meu avô. Tudo o que eu queria era encontra-lo e 
foi isso que me fez vagar de guerra em guerra atrás de Vitorius. 

Minha visão se perde em meio a escuridão e nela vejo pessoas, 
ouço essas mesmas pessoas em seus grunhidos disformes. 
Estou cansado, é vazio aqui dentro. 
Tem espaço demais para toda essa ira aqui dentro.

Não sinto as pontas dos meus dedos...

Baixei minha cabeça com o peso dos meus devaneios. 
Algo se arrastou por entre as pedras, 
era possível sentir sua respiração ofegante.

Eu estava cansado e via toda sorte de imagens terríveis 
pairando em minha mente e dentre estas viagens havia uma que 
acabou se repetindo por uma eternidade de tempo.

Eles estavam andando com seus longos trajes brancos e 
em suas mãos levavam velas acesas. 
Suas feições fantasmagóricas pairavam por corredores obscuros 
ladeados por quadros e vasta prataria, pareciam procurar algo. 
Escutei um som pesado de madeira rompendo a escuridão.

Um deles sumiu e os outros andavam mais rápido agora desesperados.
Era possível ouvir a palavra "monstro" sussurrada no meio da noite.