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Origem
Fernão Batilo


Do pó fui formado,                                                                                                                                                             

Ao pó retornarei.



Desde criança fui criado                                                                                                                                                        

Na temperança.                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Na adolescência                                                                                                                                                                    

À esperança fui apresentado.

Vivi como fui ordenado.                                                                                                                                     

Sobrevivi graças a cada sonho                                                                                                                                                      

Que após cada dia é concebido.



Quando voltar a ser pó                                                                                                                                                      

E for estudado pelos meus semelhantes                                                                                                                      

Irei juntar-me ao pó da terra, poucos                                                                                                                                            

Irão me diferenciar.                                                                                                                                                               

Destes que estão a se decifrar.

Sou como o vento,                                                                                                                                                        

Mesmo estando em lugares diferentes                                                                                                                              

E distintos                                                                                                                                                                        

Ainda sou o mesmo.

Embora o vento seja sentido pelo cego                                                                                                                           

E por aquele que o estuda, mas não o compreende.                                                                                               

Assim sou eu.                                                                                                                                                              

Ainda que esteja protegido                                                                                                                                            

Pelo sonho concebido                                                                                                                                                         

E protegido                                                                                                                                                                     

Por este caixote lacrado.                                                                                                                                          

Breve o caixote será extinto.                                                                                                                                     

Meus sonhos                                                                                                                                                                    

Poderão ao menos ser                                                                                                                                            

Passados de geração à geração,                                                                                                                                               

Assim como a cobiça de Adão.

O caixote ao pó se fundirá                                                                                                                                            

E comigo em um se tornará.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

E se o planeta se acabar                                                                                                                                                   

Quem poderá ao pó todo estudar?

A mim é dado um parecer.                                                                                                                                               

Um sonho talvez vá se restabelecer.                                                                                                                                                                                  

Seres eternos me assistem.                                                                                                                                                                 

O maior dentre eles me reanima.                                                                                                                            

Sonhos tornam a ser a minha sobrevivência.                                                                                                                                           

O desejo de jamais ser esquecido                                                                                                                                     

Pois na luta de dentro de minha mãe                                                                                                                       

Não fui vencido.                                                                                                                                                                               

E não serei como aqueles um milhão                                                                                                                       

Que jamais existiram.

Do pó fui criado                                                                                                                                                                 

Mas em mim o Sonho Eterno                                                                                                                                                      

Será e permanecerá restabelecido.




Biografia:
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Número de vezes que este texto foi lido: 61653


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