O Elefante
Carlos Drummond de Andrade
The Elephant
I make an elephant
From my few resources
A bit of wood
Taken from old furniture
Maybe I'll give it support
And fill it with cotton
Of down, of sweetness
The glue will fix
Its thoughtful ears
The trunk curls
And it's the happiest part
Of its architecture
But there are also the tusks
Of this pure material
That I don't know how to depict
So white this richness
To be displayed in circuses
Without loss or corruption
And finally there are the eyes
Where is deposited
The most fluid and permanent
Part of the elephant
Unaware of any fraud
Here is my poor elephant
Ready to go out
In search of friends
In a bored world
That no longer believes in animals
And doubts things
Here it is, imposing
And fragile mass
That shakes
And moves slowly
The sewn skin
Where there are cloth flowers
And clouds, allusions
To a more poetic world
Where love regroups natural forms
My elephant goes
Through the crowded street
But they don't want to see it
Not even to laugh
At the threatening tail
Letting it go alone
It's all grace, although
The legs don't help
And its bloated belly
Risks collapsing
At the slightest push
It elegantly shows
Its minimal life
And there is no soul in the city
Willing to gather within itself
From this sensitive body
The fleeting image
The clumsy but hungry
And touching step
But hungry for beings
And pathetic situations
Of moonlit encounters
In the deepest ocean
Under the tree roots
Or in the heart of shells
Of lights that don't blind
And shine through
The thickest trunks
This step that goes
Without crushing plants
In the battlefield
In search of places
Secrets, episodes
Untold in books
Of which only the wind
The leaves, the ant
Recognize the figure
But that men ignore
For they only dare to show themselves
Under the peace of curtains
To closed eyelids
And late at night
My elephant returns
But returns tired
And the faltering legs
Crumble in the dust
He didn't find
What he needed
What we need
Me and my elephant
In which I love to disguise myself
Exhausted from searching
His vast design fell
Like simple paper
The glue dissolves
And all its content
Of forgiveness, of caress
Of feather, of cotton
Spills on the carpet
Like a dismantled myth
Tomorrow I start again
