Isabel, sea and mines

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José Nêumanne Pinto

In the veins of Isabel
flows the blood of the Castros,
revolutionary of the 30’s
and mayor of cities
below the Equator line,
washed and dryed in the waters
of the water reservoir of Condado.
And also of the Pimentel’s,
of grandfather Leone,
dealer of hope
in times of hard work,
in order to live well in scarceness.

In the strainer of Isabel’s hair,
the gold of mine’s is seeked,
as between her lips, sheds
the warmth of coffee
planted in the Paraiba valley
and in the inland of São Paulo.
In the eyes of my beloved
shine sparks of emeralds,
caught in the Tambau sea.

Isabel is my Brazil, my worth Brazil.
Brazil of Bonifacios
Brazil of Tiradentes
Brazil of Villa Lobos
of aunt Ciata, Pizindim
and Heitor dos Prazeres,
of cowboys riding in caatingas
of cattlemen leading cattle on long journeys,
Brazil of Antonio Carlos Jobim and Portinari
Brazil of peasants hurting their fingers
catching capuchos of cotton,
and workers in the bus lane,
of streetcars that no more operate
and of the solitude of truck drivers.

Not this motherland bitten by the aedes aegypti
and corrupted by the zika of thefts,
nor this numb people
by the disease of the tse tse fly,
but the Brazil of our decent fathers
of our mothers teaching us the alphabet,
in the dry darkness of the general plains.

The Brazil marked by the feet of Isabel,
the country shaped by my wife’s hands,
that’s all I wish to legate to the future,
as a heritage made only of peace
without fear nor desperation.

Tradução de Lula Freire

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