Page 4 - Reflectoem Magazine Issue 02
P. 4


                                                                                        Maria   do   Sameiro   Barroso
        Y O U R   H A N D S
                                                                                        (Portugal)   is   a   medical   doctor
                                                                                        and   a   multilingual   poet,
                                                                                        translator,   essayist   and
                                                                                        researcher   in   Portuguese   and
                                                                                        German   Literature,   translations
                                                                                        studies   and   History   of   Medicine.
                                                                                        She   has   authored  over   40   books
                                                                                        of   poetry,   published   in   Portugal,
                                                                                        Brazil,   Spain,   France,   Serbia,
        M    A    R    I  A       D    O        S   A    M     E   I  R   O             Belgium,   Albany,   USA,   and
                                                                                        translations   and   essays.   Her
                                                                                        poems   are   translated   into   over
        B   A    R    R   O    S   O
                                                                                        twenty   languages.   She   is   the
                                                                                        recipient   of   numerous
        I lie down over windows of music,
        I drink from the trough of the angels.
        A feverish star glows in a faraway
        I lie down over crazy windows,
        forgetting everything,

        just listening to the harps
        and tambourines of the moon.
        Somewhere debris from fog,
        grey from winters galaxies
        is hanging around;
        - and crows dying in purple
        floating gangrene.
        Mysterious herbs are burning
        in the wind.
        Listening to the sound of shamanic
        drums, the blue of many centuries
        comes over me.
        I lie down on white windows,
        over the ash, the tears
        and a glow of fear.
        In the trepanned sphere of the night,
        tubes of memory are opening
        in breaths of ancient music.

        Greedy carnivorous flowers
        are hiding in the dark,
        and my face shines like a green collage.
        I look at the bed of the trees, bushes,
        and the words come out like milky agates:
        - their magic bands hiding
        your hands,
        illegible manuscripts
        in the oxymorons of the light.
   1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9