As Mãos

With hands peace is made, war is made.
With hands everything is done and undone.
With hands the poem is made - and they are made of earth.
With hands war is made - and they are peace.

With hands the sea is torn. With hands it is plowed.
These houses are not made of stones,
but of hands. And in the fruit and in the word
are the hands that are the song and the weapons.

And they embed themselves in time like barbs
the hands you see in transformed things.
Leaves that go in the wind: green harps.

Each flower, each city is made of hands.
No one can defeat these swords:
in your hands freedom begins.