Creative Writing & Storytelling

Poetry

O Cárcere

Português

Num mundo vasto de gente,
há quem não sinta de verdade.
Tem o corpo como um mapa
e uma mente que arde.

English — Literary Adaptation

In a vast world full of people,
there are those who do not truly feel.
Their body is a map,
and their mind is burning.

Poetry — Selected Excerpt

Tive Dois Pais

Português

Tive um pai que julguei odiar.
Tive um pai que, afinal, só queria uma oportunidade.
Tive um pai que partiu e,
Anos depois, aprendi que eu podia amar.

Tive outro pai que se dedicou.
Tive outro pai que eu tanto quis odiar,
Que não aproveitou e não soube levar.
Tive outro pai que partiu e ainda não aprendi a deixar para trás.

Tive dois pais que partiram,
Tive dois pais que, talvez, me amaram,
Mas não souberam ser mais fortes
Então, tive dois pais que achava conhecer,
Mas escondiam tanto que, só eu não podia ver.

Dois pais que se foram,
Dois pais que nada me disseram,
Dois pais que me trouxeram dor,
Mas um era doente e o outro doente quis ser.

Dois homens diferentes,
Que teriam um papel fundamental,
Deixaram-se levar e apesar de bem,
Fizeram-me bastante mal,

Dois homens que, homens já não são
E nada mais me resta, além de memórias e uma falsa sensação.

English — Literary Adaptation

I had a father whom I thought I hated.
I had a father who, in the end, only wanted a chance.
I had a father who passed away and,
years later, I learned that I could love.

I had another father who devoted himself to me.
I had another father whom I so desperately wanted to hate,
who failed to make the most of it and did not know how to carry on.
I had another father who passed away,
and I still haven't learned how to leave him behind.

I had two fathers who passed away,
two fathers who perhaps loved me,
but did not know how to be stronger.
So I had two fathers I thought I knew,
but they hid so much that I was the only one who could not see.

Two fathers who were gone,
two fathers who told me nothing,
two fathers who brought me pain,
but one was ill, and the other chose to become ill.

Two different men,
who would have played such a fundamental role,
let themselves be carried away and, despite being well,
caused me so much pain.

Two men who are men no longer
and nothing remains to me but memories and a false sense of certainty.

Poetry

Chuva

Português

Amo a chuva, em casa ou perdida no mundo.
Se não tivesse corpo, seria a própria chuva —
e quando o meu tempo findar,
pintarei o céu com trovões luminosos
e chuvas que dançam.

English — Literary Adaptation

I love the rain, at home or lost somewhere in the world.
If I had no body, I would be the rain itself —
and when my time comes to an end,
I will paint the sky with luminous thunder
and dancing rain.

Personal / Emotional Writing

Fragments of a Voice

Português — Selected Excerpts

Cacos pequenos e invisíveis, como os de um copo que cai no chão numa casa cheia de gente onde todos olham para o barulho mas ninguém se levanta para ver quem se cortou.

Fiquei quando a minha voz voltava para mim como eco num quarto fechado.

English — Literary Adaptation

Small, invisible shards, like those of a glass falling to the floor in a house full of people, where everyone looks towards the sound but no one gets up to see who has been cut.

I stayed while my voice returned to me like an echo in a locked room.

Creative Writing

O Peixe que Peixe Não Queria Ser

Português — Original

O peixe que não pensava em nada mais, a não ser deixar de o ser. Os pensamentos eram como um tornado: giravam sempre em volta do mesmo. Por vezes acalmavam, quase desapareciam, mas nunca o abandonavam.

Todos os dias alguém desaparecia. Uns eram engolidos por peixes maiores. Outros desapareciam dentro de redes que caíam do céu azul do mar, algo inexplicável para um peixe que nada mais conhecia, além de nadar.

Havia quem lhe falasse de anzóis, ele suspirava e tentava imaginar o que seriam. Talvez uma forma de liberdade... Não, não podia ser. Todos falavam com tanto medo sobre isso que o pequeno peixe já não quis entender. Motores, enormes monstros que rasgavam o mar sem se importarem com quem encontrassem pelo caminho.

Contaram-lhe sobre as sombras, mas sobre sombras sabia ele bem. A sombra que escondia uma caverna, o predador que passa acima dele e lhe rouba a luz por uns breves segundos. As sombras que mudavam de forma consoante a maré e a posição do sol. As sombras sempre lhe deram medo, talvez fosse esse o problema. Talvez o problema fosse ser peixe.

Ele já vira gaivotas a sobrevoar as águas e a pousar sobre rochas. Já vira revoadas em que as aves voavam tão livres, parecendo não pertencerem a lado nenhum, senão a todo o lado que quisessem. Já vira pessoas a passear junto à costa e saltavam, corriam e brincavam.

O pequeno peixe achava, na sua inocência, que acima da água não havia medo, que todos viviam em segurança. E assim o desejo de não ser peixe crescia a cada dia que passava.

Mas, o que ele não sabia, era que, não era o mar que era perigoso. Era a vida. Cada criatura carregava um medo diferente. Uns fugiam de dentes. Outros de garras. Havia quem fugisse de guerras. E aqueles que fugiam de si próprios.

E, naquele imenso oceano chamado vida, o pequeno peixe nunca percebeu que, mesmo deixando de ser peixe, continuaria a fugir.

English — Literary Adaptation

The fish thought of nothing but no longer wanting to be one. His thoughts were like a tornado: always circling around the same thing. Sometimes they calmed, almost disappeared, but they never left him.

Every day, someone disappeared. Some were swallowed by larger fish. Others vanished into nets that fell from the blue sky above the sea, something inexplicable to a fish who knew nothing beyond swimming.

Some spoke to him of hooks. He would sigh and try to imagine what they were. Perhaps a form of freedom... No, it could not be. Everyone spoke of them with such fear that the little fish no longer wanted to understand. Engines, enormous monsters that tore through the sea without caring who they found in their path.

They told him about shadows, but shadows he knew well. The shadow that hid a cave, the predator passing above him and stealing his light for a few brief seconds. Shadows that changed shape with the tide and the position of the sun. Shadows had always frightened him. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps the problem was being a fish.

He had seen seagulls flying over the water and resting on rocks. He had seen flocks of birds flying so freely, seeming to belong nowhere and everywhere they wished to go. He had seen people walking along the coast, jumping, running and playing.

In his innocence, the little fish believed that above the water there was no fear, that everyone lived in safety. And so, with every passing day, his desire to no longer be a fish grew.

But what he did not know was that it was not the sea that was dangerous. It was life. Every creature carried a different fear. Some fled from teeth. Others from claws. Some fled from wars. And there were those who fled from themselves.

And, in that immense ocean called life, the little fish never understood that, even if he stopped being a fish, he would still be running away.

All texts and poems presented on this page are original works by Maria Silva. Reproduction or redistribution without permission is not permitted.