Poetry / lyrics from Portugal

“The legend of a gypsy woman

Asleep out in the open

Who missed the caravan

For following her thought.

There are days she hovers 

Along the paths of the world

There are days she rolls

Around the fangs of time.

Holds the legend that the gipsy

Along the path she had trawled

A shawl had lost

And a bump had brought it.

Shaking the dust and the hurt

As if colour could awaken

In a hug he danced with her

Before time would steal her away.
Only time rolls our skirt,

Only time makes us dance,

Confuses our steps in the sand,

Changes the course of sea water.
In the silence they could barely be heard

Dancing barefoot on the sand

In an almost cold night

The moon was almost full.

And so they could tare darkness

Or escape loneliness

They tied tired bodies

On the vague shadow of the floor.

When the sun spills the day

The shawl laid forgotten

And the steps of the gipsy woman

The wind had already hidden.

Remained alone the bump

Rescuing an illusion

His soul gagged in the palm of his hand”.
Mafalda Veiga, “A lenda de uma cigana”

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