A Rosa Desfolhada
Vinicius de Moraes
The Defoliated Rose
I try to compose our love
Within your absence
All the madness, all the martyrdom
Of an immense passion
Your record player, our portrait
A careless time
Everything trampled, everything broken
Everything thrown on the floor
And in every corner
Your disenchantment
Your melancholy
Your sad desperate figure
Before what I told you
And then the shock and then the insult
Love torn apart
And then the tears before the agony
Of the accomplished fact
Silent
The rose remained
Defoliated on the ground
That I with my fingers tried timidly
To rebuild from nothing:
Your perfume, your sweet hairs
Your beloved skin
Everything undone, everything lost
The defoliated rose
