Eduardo B. Penteado
Where could you be now, my poet friend?
When will we ever be together again?
I remember you, oh, I do
You were the beautiful sad child
Running alone in a crowd of a million no-ones
So your ink were your tears
In your desperate poems
Your beautiful poems...
Your desperate dreams I loved to read
Your beautiful cries that meant so much to me
Your beautiful, desperate lines
Where I found much of my own reality
So I wish you could tell me,
Just where could you be...?
BUKOWISKI E A LITERATURA
Há uma semana