Cecília Meireles, translated by Oliver Simões
I sing because the moment exists
and my life is complete.
I am neither happy nor sad:
I am a poet.
Brother of the things fleeting,
I feel neither joy nor pain.
I run through days and nights
in the wind.
Whether I collapse or stand up,
whether I endure or fall apart,
— I know not, I know not.
I know not if I stay or depart.
I know that I sing. And the song is everything.
Of eternal blood is made my winged verse.
But I know one day I shall be resting:
— and nothing else.