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A CARGA
Uma rua me conduzia até o porto.
E eu era a rua com as suas janelas dilaceradas
e o sol despositado na areia materna.
Eu levava para a beira do mar tudo o que surgia
à minha passagem: portas, rostos, vozes, colônias de cupim
e réstias de cebola que amadureciam na sombra
dos armazéns próvidos. E sacos de açúcar. E as chuvas
que haviam enegrecido os telhados das casas.
Era um dia de dádivas. Nada estava perdido.
As ondas celebravam a beleza do mundo.
A terra ostentava a promessa da vida.
E eu despositava a minha leve carga
nos porões dos navios enferrujados.
THE LOAD
A street led me to the port.
And I was the street with its torn windows
and the sun set down in the maternal sand.
I carried to the seaside everything that appeared
during my passage: doors, faces, voices, colonies of termites
and braided onions ripening in the shadows
of well-stocked storerooms. And sacks of sugar. And the rains
that had darkened the roofs of the houses.
It was a day of offerings. Nothing was lost.
The waves celebrated the beauty of the world.
The earth put on parade its promises of life.
And I lay down my own light load
in the cargo-holds of those rusting ships.