domingo, 11 de outubro de 2015


    Based on Samuel Beckett's play

Seated on a bench
He waits something
Godot is its name
But is it a being
Or a some thing
So precious to him?

His eyes is watching
Every step in the park
In the shop, garden,
School or, even, house...

And pass seconds,
And pass minutes,
Hours in his clock,

And pass days...
And pass months...
And pass years...

A calendar once
Goes away...
In which ways?

I do not know
Since I'm not him
Even if I met him,
I could just see through out

For the same reason
We are but there are not...
He lives just for him
And I, just for me.

Speak and talk?
Just to each own
Tell and say?
The answer is: unknown.

I think I just see..
See a Godot
In our way...
He is waiting for...
And I'm, for him...

Just to he helps me
To Answer these questions:
What are we?
And what is life for us?

This is not happening,
I think:
When Godot is going
To appear?

(Leandro Monteiro)