Fado Triste

Go on, setting sun,
just leave and don’t come back
without bringing in the first ray
news of those who are gone.

On a bitter, sad dawn,
a ship with its bow held high
took away everything I kept.

In the hidden box of feelings,
in the memories of objects
that decorated my room,
everything loses its color, shape, and scent,
only forgotten things remain of the importance they had.

I always return to the river
on Fridays to remember
carefree days and aimless nights.
I hope that the ship always wants
to bring back the whisper of your footsteps on a street in Lisbon.