Ilana Eleá

Sharp hatchet
drowning seed
unfair hammer
vibrates noise
has pierced the voice
the one I gave
to the poem - 
with no explanation.
Hatchet has planted
living silences
the most brutal kind
tearing apart
from afar
over myth,
tall tales.
Hatchet sows
the inexistent:
it's a mistake
to tear down
open doors.

Translation: Maíra Mendes Galvão
Image: Lumeah Photography

Subtitles in English, press CC on Youtube.

[A thousand leaves]

[A thousand leaves]

The hissing trees enormous I see through the window at home, thin arms dancing leaves. I thought the wind followed the compass, pleased in its blown transparency, but the choreography I see variegates the bramble gestures. The same wind blows each branch for its own ballet, the soft melody of instrument leaves spin, trunk, spin swirl for the green liberty of entranced seeds, waiting for the right sod. The rumble in the air heads for new islands wanting rails. Through the window of this second floor at home I gaze; from the tall trunk I stretch steps in my flats like the singing trees in the yard. Roots pitch the wait, theirs and mine. Searching is serene when dancing with what wafts the soul.


Poems in English




between yesterday and today


came in through Venus.



I am soft for sliding

into the grove


I move to bathe with

Candles and

Flight in the watermark

Your face one color each.

Photo by xelnaga/iStock / Getty Images

Photo by xelnaga/iStock / Getty Images