Herança

In those times, yes
In those times the houses were already born old
They were warm, solemn houses
Under the Portuguese, maternal tiles
Painted in pale blues
And in whites, ochres, and yellows
Some didn't even have plaster
In the flesh of the bricks they showed themselves naked
Open in windows that peeked
From the green shadow to the Sun of the streets

In those times, yes
In those times
These houses had balconies and balconies
And damp basements and attics with ghosts
And they had jasmine trees over the walls
And cozy wooden latrines
Disguised among the plants in the yards
And orange trees and roosters and dogs
A barrel bellied with water
And a tin shell for thirst
On the balconies that were cool and open
The laziness of the siesta in a hammock

In those times, yes
In those times
The doors were tall
And high the ceiling of the rooms of these houses
But the people who lived in the houses were simple
The men were called Bento, Honorato, Deoclécio
The women were Carlinda, Emerenciana, Vicentina
The men wore beards and chewed tobacco leaves
The women had children, did embroidery and made donuts
The men went to the club, the women to Mass
And men and women to wakes
They died discreetly and stayed in the portraits

In those times, yes
In those times
The church had saints on the altars
And there were women praying at the feet of the saints
The priest wore a cassock full of stains and buttons
Baptized children, commended the dead
Prayed the mass in Latin: Agnus Dei
And ate fat lamb at the mayor's table
Men helped in the church works
But they believed more in weapons than in saints

In those times, yes
In those times
The leaders were called colonels
They earned their stripes under the smoke
In fights with horse hooves
Single-shot pistols and good steel swords
Women planted flowers and herbs
For the spirit and the body were equally important
They knew recipes for hearty pots
Made tallow candles and pots of sweets
And from fats and ashes they invented soap

In those times, yes
In those times
The oxen ruled over men
And that's why life was gentle in the small town
Surrounded by winds, farms, and ranches
The bulls devoutly fulfilled their mission
And the cows, patient
Gave birth to calves and calves and calves
The field fattened the oxen
The April herds fattened the men
And the men fattened the women

That's why the city has come this far
That's why we are here
Grandchildren and great-grandchildren of these men
Of these women, granddaughters and great-granddaughters

That's why a bull's bellow touches us so much
And so deeply
That's why we are guardians of old houses
Souls of sesmarias and ranches
Walls that bear their portraits

The muscle of the ox in the strength that carries us
The grandparents' beard as a seal on the chin
The sweetness of the grandmothers in the memory of the mouth
And in it this requiem

In those times, yes, in those times