Alma Novaes

 Molière's Stage

In the beginning was the word

who entered without a license

and the colloquial voice castrated

all feeling and belief,

and the faces of others

chanting annoyance,

A yawn, a curse

to vociferate in silence,

As if the scream were something from

despicable and forbidden moaning.

Then I came,

The word was more act

The smile was spontaneous

ceasing to be 

obligation, artifact.

You'd smile back,

The voice was horny

And the other faces

that is not yours, the expression

was gaining interest

Waking up, and, the sky

It was blue and impossible.

Someone called me theater,

and even dramatic expression

but I'm still oral,

I'm still a voice, after all,

of those who dream bigger.