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Act 1 scene 2

Sometimes love can be like hyperbole
Many times there is so much exaggeration
That self love becomes an inconsistency
And a true heart gets empty in order to fill other's
Many times love may turn into a scene from an act
featuring nothing more than characters
And not much of that tender feeling is left as a result
I just wish I were wrong about it
And I may be so
some people who fall in love
May feel so bad that they might get cornered
What's real love then?
Is real love like an affirmation

That does not leave room for self denial, while wishing others well?
I think regular people can not understand it sometimes
I just hope to be wrong about it too and pray that they do
Because I am just as regular as they are
For there is happiness
In a heart that has just gotten unbroken
And real Love creates so much emotion by itself that
It comes complete
And who is that in need of approval concerning real love
As long as they avoid making mistakes in order to avoid hurting others?
So much is said about love
And so many wrongs are perpetrated
Yet so little right is done
And when you are faithful to real love
Most times you will pay a price
As you are not perfect too
You may suffer and cause others to suffer sometimes
And mistakes can be made
However make sure it's not on purpose
Indeed, everyone must be strong
Just do not fear making it a try if you feel love
And tell others how much they are important to you
If it is what really comes from your heart
But do not hope people will understand you
Sometimes, they won't
So just be as specific as you can
And make sure what you feel is for good only
Once someone got you wrong
It may be impossible to fix it
And all that may be left is the same inconsistency present within an empty heart
So, if you are sure what you did was for good
And you may be suffering for this
Just let it be

Let's not think we may find perfection in ourselves
Let's hope we may be able to get as close as we can of it, though

And let us let life take its course as it always has



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Versos ou Prosa da Memória Poética?

Porque hoje é quinta,
escuto Chico para chorar e rir, e em casa sem atrapalhar o tráfego .
No Sábado, ouço e leio Vinícius para dar risadas e chorar de rir.
O primeiro foi um grande construtor poético; o segundo ainda é. Ou seria o contrário de tudo até o primeiro ponto? Ou seria o contrário até o ponto segundo?
É bem verdade, entretanto, que uma genialidade floresceu há tempos.

Quem é quem então? Eles, eu sei quem são.


Just a short tale
By John Ny

A long time ago, one of my grandmothers, tried to make sure that joining the Brazilian military service would be an unnecessary feat in my case, as she could probably use her influence over that matter. A quite clear sign of care and preoccupation over a possible and bad outcome, in my opinion. However, after a long period of reflection over what my choice would be, I really decided on enlisting against her wishes, which, unexpectedly, resulted in an unlikely outcome as she proved to be one of my greatest supporters at the time. Well, I really miss my grandmother and not for the fact that she was white in spite of the fact that I am black. Nevertheless, that is not the real point here. Because what had already been very clear to all participants in that process from the start, and including her main role in the equation, was the fact that dodging draft would never make of any citizen a useful one for society. We all shared the same opinion about the role …


-Oi, já cheguei da escola.
O que tem para almoçar?
-Oi, querida. Como foi seu dia de aula?
- Tem bife acebolado?
Eu quero bife, mãe!
- Tem sim, amada!
Tem salada de...
- E salmão?
Eu quero sobremesa também.
- Como foi seu dia de aula?
Eu preparei arroz, feijão....
- O mãe, só tem isso pra comer?

Não estou brava com minha mãe, pequeno grão de arroz!

Estou apenas com fome. John Ny/ João Neto