Poetry: Your Eyes


Your eyes destroy the pure logic of the image. They remake the disorder of a methodical chaos. Make us remember those nights when we wanted it to be light again. That same light that remains forgotten in the canvas of the paintings. Beauty trails that go off during a sleep and slowly subside into a sadistic wandering of horror. I had a strange dream today, as most dreams used to be. I dreamed that I was the light, and your eyes sifted the day. And there is always a night in every look. There is always a gray England in the luminous naïveté of every smile. Because here, in this land, there are no guinea pigs. There are only borders that the eyes don’t understand, that the eyes will never reach.

Mário Santos lives in Lisbon, Portugal. Coming from languages and arts but passionate for the new technologies, ​after long years working as a software engineer, he quits his job and writes his first novel, A Máquina não gosta de gatos, ​published in 2015 in Portugal by a major publishing house, Guerra & Paz Editores.