Torto Arado

Far away, the clucking, with my grandma's voice
That hid so much, under the
Bed, her
And our past I saw, inside her suitcase the dust
And the glare of a cold knife, almost blinding my eyes

Reflected, my sister
Wanted to taste its flavor
Bibiana and Belonisia brought our grandma down
She said: I’ll rip out your tongue, not knowing the tongue was in my hand

I had to be her mouth, her will, her speech
Even mute, she told me everything through her gaze
My blood, my sister
But for us, like us, my dad
Taught me
Land here only has value if it’s worked
And for the owner of this land, harsh, he taught me
People here have no worth, only labor

Just mud houses, brick? No way
But harsh wouldn’t accept it, dreaming of a place
Where there was even school, where we would go to learn
Where the people owned, even their own home
Far beyond black water

If it rains, my dad, you won’t
Feel cold or get wet
Under the ground, how is harsh?
Ana asked

But don’t cry, my mom
I’ll take care of you, Inácio consoled
And I, already worn out, having seen it all
But I can’t get used to it, I dissolved in rain

To penetrate your mouth
And carry your blood
After the sun sets
I’ll ride a body
I’ll go back to digging the grave
I’ll use the knife again

My horse has died
And my name has been forgotten
And I, who’ve seen it all
But I can’t get used to
Seeing dead dreams

Not this time
Not this time
Not this time
Not this time