grief hurt

 

Someone here today to voice I forbear

With the sound of the wind I torment

Longing for the past that I still pack

No tears hurt without regret.

 

I do not see heaven nor earth rested

Not so mild in the river at the back

Turbid waters, birds tormented

And Vergo won by the weight of this world.

 

I swear to myself today, freedom

With a clear clarity and quiet

Gradually cut the roots without nostalgia

 

That alone with me here myself transplanted

Pilgrim in a rectangle of city

And finally, in quiet sorrow hurt me.

 

Clara Roque Esteves (2008)