Saudades são verter pedaços de alma
Um rir mas chorar continuamente
Um morrer pela memória inutilmente
Sendo a ausência mais um mal que não se acalma.

Repousa em teu sepulcro sempre calma
Que velarei o teu corpo fielmente
Enquanto penso, triste, amargamente,
Na tua morte que matou a minha alma…

…E enquanto a minha alma desolada
Ainda não esqueceu, amargurada,
Aquela dor imensa de perder-te;

Só me resta aguardar a minha sorte
A de esperar o dia da minha morte
Para entrar no Paraíso, tornar a ver-te!...

(fotografia: Gabriela de Sousa

local: Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, sepulcro de Camões)

The little dead bird

It was raining. In the car, the little girl was waiting to arrive home, at last. She had been so much time away from home! But now she was back. And the rain looked beautiful when thinking of her return...

In the horizon, the mountain seems closer and closer... And she laughed everytime she saw a bird singing in the trees...

After two hours inside the car, she saw a small village. The bells were ringing in the church. In front of the church there was a house were the oldest person in the village lived. On the other side, there was the graveyard.

The girl got off the car and walked through a stony way. Finally, she sees her home!

She runs. The clouds are grey and cold. And, in the front door, there was a dead bird.

The girl suddenly stopped; looked at the bird. It starts to rain.

Full of pity and sadness, the girl picks the bird in her hands and looking up the heaven. With her innocence, she thought "And now? Poor little bird! Now the bird can't fly to heaven!"

The girl makes a hole in the ground; inside, she puts the little bird. That place has the most beautiful tree of all village. Then, she finds a cold and heavy stone. Now, the little bird has a grave.

...Time goes by slowly and the girl stays a long time thinking, near the birds grave...

At night, while she was sleeping, she had a dream. In the dream, the flowers were more colourful, the tree was more beautiful than ever... And, happy, singing in her window, was the little dead bird...





(This text was in memory of a little bird I found death in front of my house and that I buried in my garden.)