The life bifore the mirror

Original composition in Portuguese-Brazil language “A vida diante do espelho ”, version English. Format edited in the Spanish, Portuguese-Brazil and English language, on the author's page Facebook.

The life before the mirror

Sitting on the floor in front of the mirror

accompanied every step of his lifed

your eyes saw someone else

that in tears the vigor was required

of the comings and goings of life in pain

In all the years the woman's body has cloistered

was the lonely man that life taught everything

less to be a man because in your chest

a woman's heart always reigned

a simple button formed in flower

In the soft skin that time took away the beauty

in the sweetness of the voice that was lost in the shout

in the repressed dreams since childhood

in the self scourge of being a man

not only stole the female essence, which was kept there

In the fight for the bread of the fatherless

in the fight for the brother whom the father did not want

in the struggle for self preservation

in a wordless male world

where beauty was a reflection of perversion

The mirror didn't lie, each piece died a little

of your caress and woman's desires

the forbidden dance treats

the innocence of immaturity in the child whish

the fatality of life without hope

There in the mirror was the pain of becoming a woman again.

for not being able to be more man

for seeking a caregiver

because he no longer had in his mind the strength to fight

because I just wanted the pleasure of knowing the reciprocal love

In front of the mirror on the cold floor of the house

between the desire to be a woman and the obligation to be a man

there was a human being immersed in unloving

almost flower, half stone, wrapped in suffering

among what he needed to be was that he longed to live

It was not a choice of gender or worldly tendency.

it was the absence of the choice life had imputed to her

there was the soul in the middle of the world that was always yours

and who bravely faced by his hands

but that the rogue time without her realizing took her reason

Who was the soul that the weeping spilled?

the soul that madness prowled

that weakness dominated

that beauty was hidden by poverty

who was the nobody who saw himself without a beyond?

Her tears were tears of pain.

your wish, lack of love

his sadness was the certainty of immutability

your physical aches the science of weakness

his joy long ago became sadness

So what had life in store for her?

something fate had taken from her?

What was the charitable floor meant for her?

just the thanks of the benevolently given ceiling?

the loaf of bread that charity did not allow her, out of mercy, not to have in solitude.

Hygora Hoxy

All Rights reserved