My quarter is in the world

My quarter is in the world
next of all the flowers
Far away of any perturbation
Of the side of an livened up corner.

My quarter is close to the joy
where the sadness never lost the boots
Where Judas lost his silver coins
and eat the bread of the Holy forgiven

My quarter is decorated by Burle Max
Where Carlos Drummond wrote poems
And Andy Wharol make a phone call to God
to require some fifteen minutes of fame

My Quarter is free
of all desert of soul
and free of all shit things
thah exist in newspapper and magazines

My quarter is in the world
My Quarter is The World
That I invent every day
in each new dawn