Amor no atlantico

Amor que atravessas mares

e levas de mim todos os asares

e por alguém no atlantico

foste a alegria buscar.

Vejo-te agora a despertar

sinto-te agora a crescer,

onde havia escuridão

vejo a luz a nascer.

e foste tu, minha Deusa,

minha musa inspiradora

que o fizeste acordar

e aquecer

deste-me vontade de viver

e a este mundo voltar,

amor voltaste a respirar,

coração voltaste a acreditar,

Ai!! Felicidade. Ai!! felicidade

voltaste para mim a sorrir,

e escrevo com saudade

ao amor das americas

a quem fez a primavera voltar a florir.

Injuries (ferimentos translated)

the night arrives the tears are set free
I feel so only of naked body
in a world that is put on of black
in a sea it already takes me of loser.

I am completely in me tears of bitterness
visa this sad and cold framework
where I always protect and hide my pain
I escape for a corner and meet with the solitude.

I feel so weakly, it is a light that went away already,
it is a paint of pen that dried already
it is a flower that withered and died already
and what for the joy suffered.

Oh it poetizes, Ai troubadour
you hide rage, write them to me to the love
you leave hearts but words of yours
you paint for words feelings
what are not any more what injuries.

Ferimentos

chega a noite soltam-se as lágrimas
sinto-me tão só de corpo despido
num mundo que se veste de preto
num mar já me leva de vencido.

sou todo em mim lágrimas de amargura
visto esta triste e fria armadura
onde sempre me protejo e escondo minha dor
fujo para um canto e encontro-me com a solidão.

Sinto tão fraco, sou luz que já se foi,
sou tinta de caneta que já secou
sou flor que ja murchou e morreu
e que pela alegria padeceu.

Ai poeta, Ai trovador
escondes raiva, mas escreves ao amor
deixas corações mas falas do teu
pintas por palavras sentimentos
que não são mais que ferimentos.

Calm glance (olhar sereno translated)

Of face dark person

with calm glance

it faces the life

in a touch of magic.

In the eyes the sadness

he lives in a world of uncertainty,

it reveals great calm

but it suffers well bottom of the soul.

Black and deep eyes

of whom it cries arduamente

looking between for two worlds

the flame that is put out slowly.

wolf, sad and lonely,

his soul wanders

in the field where it sows,

and in the end to the pain supportive.

The way of giving up

it is in the tip of his pen,

loaded, defeated while feeling

the death of a butterfly.

Tears of paint,

they are tears of blood.

What I cry,

the tears what the poet paints.

Life without sense (vida sem sentido translated)

Where stops the strength,

to keep on fighting?

For a life without sense,

for a scenery without the sea.

Where already not even the sun is amused.

It does not even build a road in it that it is certain,

it passes a fog that becomes overcast,

my course, my north.

I travel without luck.

I follow in this way,

where I know that I go away to hurt,

without a simple fondness,

since it is dificult ahead to look …

surviving,

I am going,

where it stops the kiss?

In the destiny.

but the fear did to me from him to lose,

I am afraid it when wrote,

so so I am going mad,

so so I am already lost.

Pretense and fury (fingimento e fúria translated)

This world asks so that I pretend

to be what I am not and am going mad

everything wants that I they lie,

but to lie not, before I prefer die.

since a world can live

gone of false prophets

what speak words like arrows

and it does not interest whom they injure because of wanting.

life discharges like the rose without perfume,

a world of envy and jealousy

an awake soul in suffering,

a ready body giving in.

The vein of the poet (translation of a veia do poeta)

she is born, grows and dies
being fed of the love
she spreads and the body goes
leaving in him only the pain.
It paints for words
all the feeling
in an existent chest
causing in the poet the suffering.
and, wool begins the writer
living on his sad luck
knowing that this one will take it to the death
since she is done arrow.
I talk about the vein of the poet,
it paints pain in pretty verses,
when deserts are leaving in heart,
and whose soul also affectionate.

Welcome

Welcome

Welcome to my heart,
a world of sadness a wall of solitude
built of the deep waters of the bitterness
lifted of the foundations of the madness.

Welcome to the roots of my fear
where the reason to live or to die
it is a question of the time
it is a question of honor of not wanting to suffer.

Welcome to my world
where I live in the illusion of loving,
almost dead illusion
in a heart already frozen.

It wanted to be only a bird
and up to you to be able to fly
only to be able to feel
only to contemplate your beauty.

Welcome at the rate of tears
deep, of blood, of solitude,
tears what I cry,
for the tip of a pen.

The written longing (A saudade escrita traduzida)

When it was born in a furnace
it burns and makes suffering
and of the soul a chip
it is born and makes dying.
Who survives his fate
he survives the discontented life
soul and shrouded body
he never sees the present.
it is sad to survive his shadow
so only it observes the world in the twilight
and the tear is set free,
dripping in a leaf of paper
forget, it is reborn that she lives loose
it is the constant longing
living between the people
Never die and it always returns.

a saudade escrita

Nascido numa fornalha
arde e faz sofrer
e da alma uma acendalha
nasce e faz morrer.
Quem vive seu fado
vive a vida descontente
alma e corpo amortalhado
nunca vê o presente.
é triste viver sua sombra
pois só observa o mundo na penumbra
e a lágrima fica solta,
escorrendo numa folha de papel
esquece, renasce vive solta
é a saudade permanente
vivendo entre a gente
Nunca morre e sempre volta.