When tenderness
seems tired at last of its offices

and sleep, that most uncertain vessel,
still delays,

when blue bursts from
your eyes

and searches
mine for steady seamanship,

then it is I speak to you of words
desolate, derelict,

transfixed by silence.

Translation: Alexis Levitin

by Eugénio de Andrade

Other poems of DE ANDRADE (11)

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