.

A domesticação da inquietude

E há coisas a que nunca nos devíamos habituar. Quando tudo o que nos rodeia parece dizer-nos para aceitar, talvez tenha chegado o momento de voltar a desobedecer.

𝑯𝒂́ 𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝜾́𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒓-𝒏𝒐𝒔.

𝑼𝒎𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒄̧𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒔.

𝑼𝒎 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒎 𝒂 𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒓 𝒏𝒂 𝒓𝒖𝒂.

𝑼𝒎𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝜾́𝒍𝒊𝒂 𝒂 𝒇𝒖𝒈𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒂 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂.

𝑼𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂́𝒓𝒊𝒐 𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒃𝒊𝒅𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎 𝒖𝒎 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒔.

𝑼𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒅𝒂 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒛𝒆𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆.

𝑬, 𝒏𝒐 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐, 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒎𝒐-𝒏𝒐𝒔.

𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒋𝒂 𝒖𝒎 𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐.

𝑵𝒂̃𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒐 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒐́𝒅𝒊𝒐. 𝑵𝒂̃𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒂 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒂̃𝒐. 𝑴𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒗𝒂𝒊 𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄̧𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒏𝒐́𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒎 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆̂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆.

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔.

𝑫𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒎, 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒓.

𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂, 𝒇𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆̂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒂 𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐. 𝑪𝒉𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒎-𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆́𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐́𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒔, 𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂́𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔 𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒊𝒔. 𝑽𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒔. 𝑺𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂̀ 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆.

𝑨 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒋𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒅𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝜾́𝒄𝒊𝒂.

𝑵𝒂̃𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔.

𝑬́ 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆́𝒎 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔. 𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒉𝒐, 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒄̧𝒐̃𝒆𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒗𝒆𝒛𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒂𝒎 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒐.

𝑴𝒂𝒔 𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒓-𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆́𝒄𝒊𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂.

𝑶 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒄̧𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒂 𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒂.

𝑨 𝒊𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒏𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒖𝒎 𝒅𝒊𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒐 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒐. 𝑬́ 𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒂. 𝑷𝒆𝒍𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒄̧𝒐. 𝑷𝒆𝒍𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐. 𝑷𝒆𝒍𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐. 𝑷𝒆𝒍𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄̧𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒏𝒐́𝒔.

𝑴𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄̧𝒂 𝒏𝒂̃𝒐 𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒄𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒉𝒂.

𝑬́ 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒂.

𝑽𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒎 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒐 𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒐́𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂 𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒐 𝒆𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒐, 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐.

𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐, 𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐, 𝒔𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒓.

𝑶 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒐𝒖-𝒔𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝜾́𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐.

𝑨𝒔 𝒈𝒖𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎 𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒖́𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐. 𝑬 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒎 𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒏𝒐́𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒎 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒔 𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆.

𝑵𝒂̃𝒐 𝒂𝒅𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒎 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒔, 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒔.

𝑨𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒎𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐, 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒎 𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒔, 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒐.

𝑴𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒉𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒎, 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒎 𝒅𝒐 𝒎𝒆̂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆, 𝒇𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒐 𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒍𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒆́ 𝒑𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒐 𝒆, 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒎𝒐 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒎, 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝒂 𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒓-𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝜾́𝒄𝒊𝒍.

𝑬𝒔𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒍-𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒆́ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍.

𝑴𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒎 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒍-𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒔𝒂̃𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔.

𝑬́ 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒎 𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒐́𝒅𝒊𝒐.

𝑵𝒂̃𝒐 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒄̧𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆.

𝑬𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒖𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒆𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒐 𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒐 𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒂 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒎 𝒗𝒐𝒛 𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒂.

𝑬𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒛𝒂 𝒆́ 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒉𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒖𝒂𝒍.

𝑬𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒂̃𝒐 𝒂𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒔.

𝑼𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒆𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝜾́𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒂 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒐.

𝑬 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒎 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂, 𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒎-𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒔 𝒗𝒖𝒍𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂́𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒄̧𝒐̃𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒙𝒐𝒔.

𝑨𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒆́𝒎 𝒍𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒛 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒑𝒂 𝒆́ 𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔.

𝑶𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒔.

𝑶𝒖 𝒅𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒓𝒖𝒑𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒂́𝒈𝒊𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒐.

𝑴𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒏𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂 𝒆́ 𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒆𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒎.

𝑨𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆, 𝒑𝒐𝒃𝒓𝒆, 𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒈𝒊𝒂𝒅𝒐 𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆, 𝒆́ 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒆́𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆, 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒔 𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒓 𝒖𝒎 𝒍𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐.

𝑬́ 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒓.

𝑵𝒂̃𝒐 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒄̧𝒐̃𝒆𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒋𝒂𝒎 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒔. 𝑴𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒎 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒓𝒂́𝒑𝒊𝒅𝒂 𝒂 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖́𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍.

𝑬 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒆́ 𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒂 𝒅𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝜾́𝒄𝒊𝒍.

𝑯𝒂́ 𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒆́𝒎 𝒖𝒎 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒓𝒂𝒔.

𝑬 𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒔𝒂̃𝒐 𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔.

𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒄̧𝒂𝒔, 𝒊𝒏𝒗𝒂𝒔𝒐̃𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒊𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂́𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒂, 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒂.

𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝜾́𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒆 𝒏𝒖́𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒔, 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒂 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒂.

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒓𝒂𝒔.

𝑫𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒂 𝒐 𝒐𝒍𝒉𝒂𝒓

𝑫𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒅𝒂 𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒐.

𝑨 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒄̧𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒎.

𝑷𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒐, 𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒐́𝒅𝒊𝒐 𝒏𝒂̃𝒐 𝒆́ 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒎.

𝑬́ 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒄𝒓𝒂́𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂.

𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒖𝒆́𝒎 𝒗𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒂 𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒂 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒆𝒎, 𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒓, 𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒂̃𝒐, 𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒂 𝒏𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒂 𝒔𝒖𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍, 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒂 𝒆𝒏𝒇𝒓𝒂𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒐́𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒂 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆.

𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒂̃𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒋𝒂 𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒔 𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒎 𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒉𝒂𝒎 𝒐 𝒐́𝒅𝒊𝒐.

𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒋𝒂 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒂.

𝑶 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒏𝒐́𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒓.ᐣ

𝑬𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒙𝒂́𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒓.

𝑬𝒎 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒂́𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒂𝒗𝒂.

𝑨 𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄̧𝒂 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒊 𝒏𝒆𝒖𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆.

𝑬́ 𝒔𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂 𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒄̧𝒂̃𝒐.

𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒓 𝒂 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒔.

𝑫𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒓. 𝑫𝒆 𝒐𝒍𝒉𝒂𝒓. 𝑫𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒂𝒓.

𝑫𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒗𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒎 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆.

𝑫𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒓 𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒎 𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒐𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒎 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒔.

𝑷𝒐𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝒏𝒂̃𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒆 𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒛.

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒆-𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒐𝒔.

𝑪𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒐𝒍𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒐.

𝑪𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔.

𝑪𝒂𝒅𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔.

𝑬 𝒉𝒂́ 𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒂 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝜾́𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒓.

𝑸𝒖𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒐 𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒊𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒛𝒆𝒓-𝒏𝒐𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂 𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒓, 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒛 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒉𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒅𝒐 𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆 𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝒂 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒓

* Aposentado, foi dirigente associativo e sindical, mantendo uma forte ligação à intervenção cívica e às causas sociais. Escreve poesia e textos de reflexão, onde a memória, a liberdade, a justiça social e a condição humana ocupam um lugar central

IN "ESQUERDA" - 29/07/26