Explore "Garden" by Carlos Drummond de Andrade on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Black garden where guitars are playing and the pain of life spreads out in echoes: a song meanders through the branches, as the hesitant statue reflects on itself in the pond inhabited for untold years by fish, not fish, they're decayable matter, but by pale beads from necklaces that someone unstrings, with blank eyes and outstretched hands that mechanically move under the spell of a vegetable secret, while other visions come into focus, then blur and fade: a masquerade, whose essence (if it has one) eludes me, it's just a garden, petals, a portent.