the rivers of my land

San Francisco and Amazon

poem by Maria Sabina

the rivers of my land
are dragons of green scales,
or silver body
or with a mud-colored back,
whose tail unties,
beetle, swordfish, ferret,
the valley, the plain, the mountain,
loading, undermining,
flooding, fertilizing
the lands of my land.

Two come rolling like giants,
the great waters in a whirlwind,
one in the forests of the North, far away,
another in the Center, cutting through the sertão.

The San Francisco comes from the mountain,
sings on the stones, spins and bathes
woods, cities, meadows, passes
in their tumult, swelling the waters,
in Paulo Afonso jumps over the forks
and, with a great cry, it is broken!
And the white foam goes on,
conquering everything, always triumphing,
the river forgets what was far away
and rolls around getting lost at sea.

And the Rio-Rei, the Rio-Mar, the Rio das iaras,
the lawless Amazon of alligators and streams,
that carries legends and dreams in muddy water,
singing in a slow, lilting voice,
overcoming obstacles, distances,
taking “bubuia” in the current
trees, trunks, illusions of people,
“fallen land”, enchantments and cravings,
broken branches, fragments of islands,
nightmares, wonders, wonders!
And, sweeping the earth little by little,
finally enters the sea like a giant,
and pack the angry, mad ocean
lifts the waves shaking the loin:
the “pororoca” booms in a rumble
that the echo repeats in a distant cry...
And the formidable fight continues
until the conquered sea finally retreats,
and the victorious river beyond the islands
go, out to sea, up to two hundred miles!

You are like your rivers, My Earth.
How much beauty its strength contains!
Learn from them the wild lesson
of constancy, audacity and courage.
Never turn back a single moment:
always look to the future: ahead! forward!
And when men's pessimism
predict your fall into the abyss,
recalls Paulo Afonso: the tumultuous river
fall to remain victorious!
And when they portend defeat for you,
calmly follow your route:
like the Amazon, fearsome tamer,
the waves dominate in the terrible clash,
build your brute strength on a wall,
prepares its iron claws for the fight,
and any enemy, beyond the islands,
will also go back two hundred miles,
that the “pororoca” is the fight, it is a cry of victory,
and your destiny is the march to Glory!

***