When I was born, a crooked angel, <br />the kind who live in shadows, <br />said: Go, Carlos! Be gauche in life. <br /> <br />The houses spy the men <br />chasing after women. <br />Perhaps if the afternoon were blue <br />there wouldn’t be so many desires. <br /> <br />The tram passes by full of legs: <br />white black yellow legs. <br />Why so many legs, God, my heart asks. <br />But my eyes <br />never ask a thing. <br /> <br />The man behind the moustache <br />is serious, simple, and strong. <br />Almost never talks. <br />Has a few, close friends, <br />that man behind the glasses and the moustache. <br /> <br />Lord, why did you abandon me <br />if you knew I wasn’t God? <br />if you knew I was weak. <br /> <br />World world vast globe <br />if my name were Job <br />it would be a rhyme, not a solution. <br />World world vast globe <br />vaster still is my heart. <br /> <br />I ought not tell you, <br />but this moon <br />but this congac <br />gives us heartache like the devil.<br /><br />Carlos Drummond de Andrade<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seven-sided-poem/
