Meu Serido

My Seridó has the lands
Surrounded by great mountains
Cut by long rivers
That in heavy winters
Are changed by the floods
The views of the lowlands
But in scorching summers
The horrifying droughts
Punish to make one feel sorry
I thank destiny
For also being a Northeasterner
From the lands of Seridó.

I grew up in a residence
Inheritance from the descent
Of my parents' great-grandparents
A stunning construction
Resilient mansion
Built centuries ago
With rooms and corridors
And hammocks on the hooks
Made of knotless angico
There I would swing
Fall asleep and dream
Of the peace of my Seridó.

It was a rural house
Attached to a corral
Which had a mill on the right side
Behind the pond a mill
And made in the same design
A house of flour
In each compartment
One could see the woodwork
Carved with a chisel
Showing imitations
Of the first constructions
Built in Seridó.

There I played freely
With a gourd rattle
Tied to a string
Slingshot and sling
And a guava wood spinning top
In the palm of my hand
A stick horse
Flute made of bamboo
And a vine trap
My childhood toys
Toppled by the memory
Of the ground of my Seridó.

When the harvests arrived
Our neighbors gathered
Their families with ours
Cotton pickers
Working in a collective effort
Were the celebration of the farm
The wooden scale
Creaked all week
Weighing upland cotton
Produced on the farm
And the main source of income
For the people of Seridó.

In the blessed city
Called a garden
God placed my destiny
Place where I was born
Baptized and raised
I was a good father and a good boy
And until my twenties
I lived there and made plans
Always singing forró
In the commercial school
And in the large mango grove
Of the garden of Seridó.

How many brave cowboys
Running on the plateaus
From home I also saw
To the sound of the mournful chant
Furious and impatient
The cattle gathered
Alongside the tired cowboys
With bruised shoulders
From jurema and mororó
Those unsung heroes
Also made the history
Of the valley of Seridó.

Only Mother Nature
Can give so much beauty
As a gift to the interior
Of dried landscapes
Designed and sculpted
By the hands of the creator
When the sun toasts the forest
It leaves an exposed showcase
Around Caicó
Full of silent images
Made on the sharp rocks
Of the mountains of Seridó.

From that beloved land
Cradle and pride of life
Oh, what endless longing
I left there so young
That I don't even know if my people
Still remember me
Like a migratory bird
I flapped my wings
Towards my dream and flew alone
Even far from the nest
I am also a little bird
From the garden of Seridó.