Search among Armando Taborda's articles

It doesn't matter to be at the center of Terreiro do Paço the Trafalgar Square or Times Square or Sinai surrounded by deserts I'm distressed by the specie's extinction and indifferent to the rise of others new survivors where I assumed it was impossible

God gangrenes my memory of words and facts for the being's liturgy. Dream's beauty the music and perfume illusion of the rejuvenated island by rain the eternal within us doubtful it lengthens the life we are dying love must be recorded on

I draw gliding clouds in Madeira's sky at night they pile up spilled waters soon return to the sea at gallop on streams. Fresh waters run liquid rumours of mountain pulsate in my body's arteries. I release the words through my last wind