terça-feira, 24 de dezembro de 2013

A meaningful walk

Sometimes I wish upon a life without expectations. Knowing not where a path may lead, whilst embracing uncertainty as a precedent behaviour for an enjoyable walk. Enjoyable as it leads nowhere. Enjoyable as there's happiness in solely walking.

A life without expectations, without owning or wanting. Seeing beauty in appreciation and in simply being. The more I love life, the less I need it. The less I need it, the happier I get. Loving is living, and more importantly, living in independence. Knowing we are one and one only, all travelling across the same path ignorant to its final destination. Enjoy the walk, among friends and foes, equally appreciative of both without needing either of them. In the end our footprints are the same and as they disappear in front of the oblivious Universe, they were only meaningful to the joyful walker travelling nowhere.

Tomás Roda

sábado, 21 de dezembro de 2013

In the light of Being

The mere idea of being is tiresome. Breathing per se is exhausting. Thinking breaks me down even further. I've never been fond of realisations, of knowing who I am or where I am going. Knowledge is an addiction and a painful one. Loving is a form of knowing. Becoming aware of how much we care and how much we can give to someone or something. It's the most selfish of all feelings. We love to be loved back. We love to feel happy. And so we build our existence attached to this idea of fragile joy, a naive certainty that it will never fade away. We live the day never expecting the sunset and when the sun does set we get lost in the dark forgetful that the most intense of the lights resides within us. The sun is no more than a wanderer among stars, let your inner light guide your own way.

Tomás Roda

sexta-feira, 20 de dezembro de 2013


Não sei que de mim quero.
Na luz da vela que se apaga,
Silêncio que veloz se propaga
Sei que na escuridão não desespero.

Desconheço quem serei.
Dormir sem sonho a recordar,
Barco velejando sem saber o mar
Em ver demais eu me ceguei.

Nunca soube quem era.
No vermelho do Sol que escapa,
Agarro o manto negro que me tapa
E voo; sabendo que a vida não espera.

Tomás Roda

segunda-feira, 16 de dezembro de 2013

From above

When the world is seen from above, problems are mere wrinkles in the face of the Earth. Wrinkles like roads. Roads like veins. Veins that carry the blood of the wanderers, the despair of the lost. Closer to the sun in a place where raindrops are smaller than your own tears, there is nothing as beautiful as seeing the world from above. Enjoy it, with the certainty that you will soon fall back into reality.

Tomás Roda

segunda-feira, 9 de dezembro de 2013

No title

Knowing you don't know,
When you try to stop trying.
When you've gone but you didn't want to go.
When you cry and you keep on crying.

It's when you lose what was already lost
And you find what has never been found.
Pay the price, unaware of the cost,
Silence wishing you could make a sound.

When you repeat what you have repeated
And you do what can't be done.
Try and cheat with no chance of cheating
I can't say goodbye to what's already gone.

I can't.

Tomás Roda


There is nothing more difficult than looking at a blank piece of paper. A desire to write but no idea of what words to use or how to stitch them together. Focusing on the content and on making writing aesthetically pleasing to the hear, the author forgets the reason that brought this piece of paper to life. Be aware that whatever is put into words will not be as raw as it should be. Words, sentences, paragraphs... these vehicles of thought are just barriers to the full expression of an ill mind. While it should be the cure to sickness, writing becomes the origin of self-destructive human beings. It's a maze one can't get out of. There's always a better way of expression, all of them faulty representations of a bleeding soul. The writer will settle to swimming in a glass of water knowing there is a river. Lost in the maze.

Sometimes I wish there was no blank piece of paper. But it never happens. So while I am listening to the drops of water harmoniously flowing across the river, the nightmare begins again. Here I am, a bleeding soul, with just a pen to fight my demons. There is nothing more difficult than looking at a blank piece of paper with a bleeding soul and an empty mind.

Tomás Roda

sábado, 7 de dezembro de 2013


If I ever write a letter to you it will be short.
Emotionless. I don't like emotions of any sort.
It won't be about love, either lost or found,
Nor about how the world revolves faster when you are around.
It won't make you happy or sad.
I am not writing a love story either, they always end bad.

No memory of what I wrote or who I am you will hold.
It won't leave you warm inside, neither it will leave you dead cold.
With "Dear", written above.
A letter that will not end in "Love".

It will have no ending whatsoever.
If I ever write a letter to you it will be short... but I will make it last forever.

Tomás Roda

segunda-feira, 2 de dezembro de 2013


Life is not a learning process. It's a continuous acknowledgement of what we are, but we don't know yet. Words are cheap, and they are useless. They can't conquer anything or anyone. Never live to conquer as what's easily conquered is also easily lost. Remove "possession" from your distorted idea of "love" as there is no love in having. Happiness will come with the unselfish appreciation of freedom. Love is in being, leave the castles to be conquered.

Tomás Roda