Pátria Minha

My homeland is as if it weren't, it's intimate
Sweetness and a desire to cry; a child sleeping
Is my homeland. That's why, in exile
Watching my son sleep
I cry missing my homeland.

If they ask me what my homeland is, I'll say:
I don't know. Actually, I don't know
How, why, and when my homeland
But I know that my homeland is the light, the salt, and the water
That elaborate and liquefy my sorrow
Into long bitter tears.

Desire to kiss the eyes of my homeland
To lull her, to run my hand through her hair...
Desire to change the colors of the dress (gold and green!) so ugly
Of my homeland, of my shoeless
And sockless homeland, my homeland
So poor!

Because I love you so much, my homeland, I who don't have
A homeland, I seed born from the wind
I who don't come and go, I who remain
In contact with the pain of time, I element
Of connection between action and thought
I invisible thread in the space of every goodbye
I, the godless!

Yet I have you in me like a flower's moan
I have you like a dead love
To whom I swore; I have you like a faith
Without dogma; I have you in everything where I don't feel comfortable
In this foreign room with a fireplace
And no ceiling.

Ah, my homeland, reminds me of a night in Maine, New England
When everything became infinite and nothing land
And I saw alpha and beta of Centaurus climb the mountain to the sky
Many surprised me standing in the field without light
Waiting to see the Southern Cross appear
That I knew, but dawned...

Source of honey, sad creature, my homeland
Beloved, idolized, hail, hail!
What sweeter hope chained
Than not being able to tell you: wait...
I won't delay!

I want to see you again, my homeland, and to
See you again I forgot everything
I was blind, crippled, deaf, mute
I saw my humble death face to face
I tore poems, women, horizons
I became simple, without sources.

My homeland... My homeland is not a floral ornament, nor does it display
A flag; my homeland is desolation
Of paths, my homeland is thirsty land
And white beach; my homeland is the great secular river
That drinks clouds, eats earth
And urinates sea.

More than the most charming my homeland has
A warmth, a fondness, a good
A libertas quae sera tamen
That one day I translated into a written exam: