Lost in Translation

This untranslatable Portuguese term refers to the melancholic longing or yearning. A recurring theme in Portuguese and Brazilian literature, saudadeevokes a sense of loneliness and incompleteness. Portuguese scholar Aubrey Bell attempts to distill this complex concept in his 1912 book In Portugal, describing saudade as “a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present.” He continues to say that saudade is “not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness.” Saudade can more casually be used to say that you miss someone or something, even if you’ll see that person or thing in the near future. It differs from nostalgia in that one can feel saudade for something that might never have happened, whereas nostalgia is “a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.”

Lost in Translation


We all get addicted to what makes you numb,

to the things that take away the pain.

to the things (or people) that makes you feel less alone.

Latching on to these people or things

doesn’t make us saints

But if for a minute there

It could take the pain away

Then why not?

What is the wrong in that?

If I could live on the edge of

black and white

and what’s right and wrong

I’d do it anyday;

Than simply leading a mediocre life.


Another Name

I remember you looking like my faith
And smelling like the drugs I hate

I remember I thought I was death
I couldn’t even look at you without being sad

I remember the day we kissed
Oh all the things you made me missed

How your laugh made me high
How your lips made me numb

It was a fairy tale without an end
You got bored and went to the wonderland

Do you miss your drugs and all the games?
Do you miss me or was I just another name?

  • Hedonist Poet 
Another Name


It was curse at first
You told me you were
Only you’ve died past six
I have tried to save
But who was I to save
You were in a serene
In deep water that you were drowning and
no one was saving
You were too blind to see the Pyramids that
were graving

You don’t know what happiness
Dark, dangerous, over the edge, yet
sensuous and pleasing
Maybe my passion was too
Maybe my darkness was too
I wish it was your eyes I fell in
love with
I could blind myself and get
over it
But I fell in love with your soul
And my deep infatuation was too much
for a simple man like you

  • Hedonist Poet