Um homem cego e um polonês

‘The blind man and a Pole’

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Matter of perspective: shadow or a beam of light?

\begin{Poem}
{
A blind man.
Arms outstretched,
a fruit seller perhaps ?
Selling brown vegetables,
With white flesh inside.
Is love of a white mother
any different, I wonder,
From the love of a black nanny,
Or for that matter, from
minha querida mãe marrom ?
my dear, brown, mother ?
}
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The story of a white board

We have a white board in the office upstairs where we usually sit, if we are not working in the lab. This poem came to life on Friday, while cycling to work. The white board yearns for its alter ego: the black board. Of course, these words can be erased, but once they have come together and joyfully consummated, they become inseparable. They reach a stable union which even the Goliath cannot pull them apart.

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