Tuesday, January 17, 2012

A poem by Teresinka Pereira

We write on paper,

on computers, on napkins,

on market receipts,

on newspaper's edge,

on paper plates and on trees

We, who talk to the wind

with the voice of poetry

and words of stone

We are tireless

transients of the night,

sleepless witches

We go on dreaming

in the power of love.