Explore "May Afternoon" by Carlos Drummond de Andrade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Like primitive men who devoutly hold on to the lower jawbone of their dead, so I hold you, May afternoon, when fires were redly consuming the earth and a far more devastating, unseen flameraged quietly under my comic features and left all across the burning ground, disjecta membra, my soul's condemned, still throbbing pieces, which never before or after revealed such fruitless nobility.
But primitive men appeal to their relic for health and rain, a good harvest, the enemy's defeat, this or that miracle.