E Então, Que Quereis...?

I made the newspaper pages creak
Opening their blinking eyelids.
And soon
From every distant border
A smell of gunpowder rose
Following me home.
In these last twenty years
There is nothing new
In the roaring of storms
We are not happy,
It's true,
But also for what reason
Should we be sad?
The sea of history
Is rough.
The threats
And the wars
We will have to go through them.
Breaking them in half,
Cutting them
Like a keel cuts
The waves