de Moraes
Berimbau
A good man does not betray
the love that wants the best for him.
He who often says he will leave never leaves;
as he never leaves, he never arrives.
He who does not leave himself
will die having loved no one.
The money of the one who does not give
is the labor of the one who does not have.
A good capoeirista never falls,
but if one day he falls, he falls well.
Capoeira tells me
to say I have already arrived,
having arrived to fight.
The berimbau assures me
it will have lovers quarrel.
Such sadness, my friends.
---
If there were neither love
nor that pain,
and if there were neither suffering
nor tears,
it would be better for it all to end.
I loved, I loved too much.
No one has suffered what I suffered for love.
I cried, I lost my peace,
but I know that no one will ever have more,
more than I have.
A good man does not betray
the love that wants the best for him.
He who often says he will leave never leaves;
as he never leaves, he never arrives.
He who does not leave himself
will die having loved no one.
The money of the one who does not give
is the labor of the one who does not have.
A good capoeirista never falls,
but if one day he falls, he falls well.
Capoeira tells me
to say I have already arrived,
having arrived to fight.
The berimbau assures me
it will have lovers quarrel.
Such sadness, my friends.
---
If there were neither love
nor that pain,
and if there were neither suffering
nor tears,
it would be better for it all to end.
I loved, I loved too much.
No one has suffered what I suffered for love.
I cried, I lost my peace,
but I know that no one will ever have more,
more than I have.
A felicidade
Sadness has no end;
happiness has an end.
Happiness is like a drop
of dew on a flower petal.
It shines tranquilly,
and after lightly swaying,
drops like a lover’s tear.
The poor’s happiness resembles
the great illusion of Carnival.
We work the year
to dream a moment
and fashion the fantasy of being
a king, a pirate, or gardener,
for it all to end Wednesday.
Sadness has no end;
happiness has an end.
Happiness is like a feather
the wind carries through the air.
It goes so lightly,
but has so short a life
because it needs a wind that never stops.
My happiness is dreaming
in the eyes of my beloved.
It is like this night,
passing, passing,
searching for the dawn.
Please speak softly,
so that her recollection is the happiness of day
offering kisses of love.
Sadness has no end;
happiness has an end.
Happiness is a mad thing,
so delicate.
It has flowers and loves
of all colors;
it has nests of little birds;
it has all these things,
and so it is so delicate
that I always treat her very well.
Sadness has no end;
happiness has an end.
Happiness is like a drop
of dew on a flower petal.
It shines tranquilly,
and after lightly swaying,
drops like a lover’s tear.
The poor’s happiness resembles
the great illusion of Carnival.
We work the year
to dream a moment
and fashion the fantasy of being
a king, a pirate, or gardener,
for it all to end Wednesday.
Sadness has no end;
happiness has an end.
Happiness is like a feather
the wind carries through the air.
It goes so lightly,
but has so short a life
because it needs a wind that never stops.
My happiness is dreaming
in the eyes of my beloved.
It is like this night,
passing, passing,
searching for the dawn.
Please speak softly,
so that her recollection is the happiness of day
offering kisses of love.
Sadness has no end;
happiness has an end.
Happiness is a mad thing,
so delicate.
It has flowers and loves
of all colors;
it has nests of little birds;
it has all these things,
and so it is so delicate
that I always treat her very well.
Garota de Ipanema
See, what is more lovely,
more full of grace,
than that girl
who comes and passes
with sweet swaying
on her way to the sea,
Her body made golden
by the sun of Ipanema?
The way she sways
is more than poetry;
something more lovely
I have never seen pass.
Ah, because I am so alone
and all is so sad,
the beauty that is
and is not
is mine alone,
passing alone.
Ah, if only she knew
that when she passes
the smiling world,
it fills with thanks
and is made more lovely
by love.
See, what is more lovely,
more full of grace,
than that girl
who comes and passes
with sweet swaying
on her way to the sea,
Her body made golden
by the sun of Ipanema?
The way she sways
is more than poetry;
something more lovely
I have never seen pass.
Ah, because I am so alone
and all is so sad,
the beauty that is
and is not
is mine alone,
passing alone.
Ah, if only she knew
that when she passes
the smiling world,
it fills with thanks
and is made more lovely
by love.