the girl from the dream

by Edu Lobo e Chico Buarque

(translator H.M. de Oliveira)


At a stroke, I was delighted

The girl in backlight

I dared to ask: who are you?

But my voice fatered.

Awkward, I took her hands

As to untie a knot

I blew her face without thinking

And her face crumbled to dust.

Like sorcery, she returned

Singing in a whisper

Suddenly, I asked: who are you?

The light, however, trembled.

She gently running away from me

And when I touched her, she moaned

Her dress broke apart

And her face was no longer hers.


There ought to be such a place

some cluttered and blurred house,

where dreams are truly real

(And yet life is unreal).


There, my beloved would be my queen

with her smiles, her woes, her skinned

And a couch on which in the darkness

She would have dreams about me

Maybe.


Such a place should exist

Some kind of bazaar

where all the forgotten dreams

eventually cease to be.

Among the stairs that run away from our feet

And clocks that run backwards

If only I could find my true love

I was never coming back here

Never more.

hélio magalhães de oliveira. 2011