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Primavera
Todo o amor que nos prendera,
como se fora de cera,
Se quebrava e desfazia.
Ai funesta Primavera,
quem me dera, quem nos dera,
ter morrido nesse dia.
E condenaram-me a tanto,
viver comigo meu pranto,
viver, viver e sem ti.
Vivendo sem, no entanto,
eu me esquecer desse encanto,
que nesse dia perdi.
Păo duro da solidăo,
é somente o que nos dăo,
o que nos dăo a comer.
Que importa que o coraçăo,
diga que sim ou que năo,
se continua a viver.
Todo o amor que nos prendera,
se quebrara e desfizera,
em pavor se convertia.
Ninguém fale em Primavera,
quem me dera, quem nos dera,
ter morrido nesse dia.


Spring

All the love that had tied us, as if it was of wax, was breaking and crumbling down.
Ai, tragic Spring, how I wish, how I wish that we had died on that day.
And I condemned you, oh so much, to live with my crying to live, to live, and without you.
Living, however without forgetting the enchantment that I lost that day
Hard bread of loliness, that’s all we get, that’s all we are given to eat.
What does the heart matter, whatever it says, yes or no, if it keeps on living, a
ll love that had tied us, was breaking and crumbling down, was turning into dread.
No one should talk to about Spring, how I wish, how I wish that we had died on that day.



Mariza, Marisa dos Reis Nunes (41), po majci i rođenju iz Mozambika u Istočnoj Africi, odrasla u lisabonskoj četvrti Mouraria, viša, plavija i mrvu draža od druge 2 moje afričke kraljice- Sade od Nigerije, Cesarije od Zelenortskih otoka u trilingu aseva - fado, blues i morna.

Post je objavljen 25.09.2014. u 15:14 sati.