Maybe one does not wish to draw
What it is seem
Maybe one wishes to draw that
Which is thought or how
It is thought

One’s thought are only mist
and
Suddently,
There is nothing left

to say

However, when one distances oneself
From paper, pen and charcoal
A world is found within,

populated

The rest of the time,

nothing.

How is it possible, then
This creative desert

A created desert
in which
no calm nor tranquillity
reigns. Poky embitterness.

For inside something pulsates
Disturbing emptiness
Warning it is not alone

Against sterility.

 

Da Costa 2009

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