Poem: Fernando Pessoa | Translation: André Morais
I am divided, today,
between the debt I got in my credit-card: as the real thing from the outside
and the feeling that everything is just a dream: as the real thing from the inside.
I failed on everything!
As I did not have any intention... it's like maybe everything was for nothing
The learning, which I was given?
I just left the classroom with it and went to the streets with great goals
but there I just found cars and commerce
and when there were people they were just like any other people.
I leave the bedroom.
between the debt I got in my credit-card: as the real thing from the outside
and the feeling that everything is just a dream: as the real thing from the inside.
I failed on everything!
As I did not have any intention... it's like maybe everything was for nothing
The learning, which I was given?
I just left the classroom with it and went to the streets with great goals
but there I just found cars and commerce
and when there were people they were just like any other people.
I leave the bedroom.
Then I sit on the kitchen table.
What am I supposed to think?
What do I know of me, me!, that not even know myself?
Might it be that I am what I think I am... but I think I am so many things?
And there are plenty of people that also think they are so many things
that cannot be that many things in the world to be.
Intelligent? Rsrsrs
In this very moment a hundred thousand brains are dreaming they are intelligent, just like me,
and history will not notice a single one of them
and there will be just the manure of all they would conquer.
No. I don't believe in me.
What am I supposed to think?
What do I know of me, me!, that not even know myself?
Might it be that I am what I think I am... but I think I am so many things?
And there are plenty of people that also think they are so many things
that cannot be that many things in the world to be.
Intelligent? Rsrsrs
In this very moment a hundred thousand brains are dreaming they are intelligent, just like me,
and history will not notice a single one of them
and there will be just the manure of all they would conquer.
No. I don't believe in me.
All the madhouses are full of people who are sure of themselves.
I that am not sure of anything:
am I more or less correct?
Not. Not even in me.
I that am not sure of anything:
am I more or less correct?
Not. Not even in me.
In how many houses of this vast world, there are
this very moment,
sitting intelligent people that are sure of themselves, dreaming.
How many goals that are beautiful, and well thought, and reasonable
yeas, I really mean they are beautiful, and well thought, and reasonable, and even possible!,
but will never come to the sun of happening and not will they find ears of people.
this very moment,
sitting intelligent people that are sure of themselves, dreaming.
How many goals that are beautiful, and well thought, and reasonable
yeas, I really mean they are beautiful, and well thought, and reasonable, and even possible!,
but will never come to the sun of happening and not will they find ears of people.
The world is for those who are born to conquer it and not for those who dream they could conquer it... even if they are right...
Have I being dreaming more than Napoleon?
Have I being embracing more humanity than Jesus Christ?
Have I being doing philosophy in secret that even Kant could not have written?
But I am, and maybe I will always be,
the one of that house in the corner (even though I don't live there)
I will always be he who wasn't born for it
I will always be he who had skills
I will always be he who waited for them to open the door of the doorless wall
and made a song of the infinity in a party
and heard the voice of god in well with no water.
