My mother's tears

As a child, I didn't quite understand...
When on mother's day...
Or even, any other day,

For any colorful card,
A twisted ribbon bow paper,
A poem without rhymes,
Well known melodies, sang out of tune,

Or anyway, for any reason...

Emotional, her eyes watched me...

Tiny steps, big discoveries...

Soaked eyes, speechlessly smiled...
And I know that deep down, also applauded me
On the spot light, stage of life, my little kingdom...

But for a boyish soul... I confess, did not understand

Confused, I asked myself... All that crying, was it necessary??

Finally, my time has come... And today, when rocking my son,

Even in his sleep, I cry

The same old tears, that flow in the same rivers...
That dress my eyes with sparks...
That come out for the same old reasons...

And behind that awkward, out of tune weep...
There's a tired longing man, wounded, quiet...
That does exactly what was thought... Repeats the cycle of life...

Educates, recitals, calculates, meditates...

Takes a deep breath in respect to time...

My son, beautifully grows...
Already teaching me to cry...
The same tears that still resides
In my mother's eyes.

(Tradução: Alice Campello)