Texto de quinta

Zdzislaw Beksinski, 1977

Diário de Quarentena V

What is it that makes us beautiful?

I see them hand in hand in the checkout line. I hear the sex in the upper room. I watch those two laughing to each other on the street while walking their dog. I see two other exchanging knowing glances across the table.

What is it? What was it?

They are always too short. Too tall. Too many flowers in that blouse. Too many colours in that hair. Too small the teeth in that mouth. Too bright the skirt on those legs. Those eyes, aren't they a bit asimetrical? The voice is surely too loud. And yet...

What is it?, I wonder. What was it?

Where does the spark lies, that shone to one another's eyes? Where was the light hid, that put a spell on them? What could had been so final? What was it that ofuscated everything else? How can they be beautiful? How can we be beautiful, so flawful as we are?

Are we deceivers? Are we liars? Or are we just too blind to see? Or are we machines made for ignoring whatever doesn't matter? Whatever bothers?

What did each one do to persuade their lover of their worthfulness? How do each one persuade our lovers of our worthfulness?

Where does their light lie?
Where does our light lie?

For I can't see it.

Think I'm blind.

Or, mayhaps, I'm just too much of a seer.