Desordem de Chronos

                           Tempo primordial, contínuo e final.
                                                                     A espiral, organiza o caos.
                                      Incorpóreo, bola de cristal,
                                                                                 criativo universo: terra, mar e céu…
                                                                                               aos meus olhos.
                                                         Verso reflexo 
                                    desatina
                                                sem nexo, perplexo.
             Rima assassina
                                                                         canto e voz na fúria do vento.
                                   A vida que nos aproxima,
                                                                                                         morte que nos separa.
                                                         Faca. O gume, o frio da foice.
                         O rio, a barca
                                         e o barqueiro, que não repara
                                                                              aqui e além margem…
o canto da coruja
                                                                            no sopro quente da aragem.
              Tempo, meu. Tempo, de todos. De ninguém
                                                                               sem fim, em final
                                                                                                                      crónico.
                                   O intervalo, liberta o voo da ave.
                                                   A desordem, o bater das asas.

Nuno Marques