Poems by Jonatas Chimen
Why The Fado Cries
Some may ask the reason why
The Fado songs sound like a cry
Oh well…it must only be
Because of Portugal’s affairs with the seas
For through the seas many left
And by the seas many felt
The pains of parting for good
Never looking back, as they would…
The captured, the sailor, the brave
Felt what the sea freely gave;
Nostalgia! Saudades, for those who know
The longing that comes and goes
Now the fadista sings the songs
And the guitar follows it along
Attempting to cope with the past
Forgiving, forgetting, moving on at last…
Vai e Vem is No Kid's Play
Vai e vem...
Vem e vai...
Is that not the kid's play?
But who am I to say...
As the bottle comes and goes
When the strings open and close
Vai e vem all day...
That is the kid's play!
But be fooled no more!
For as we know by folklore,
Vai e vem is no kid's play!
By the end of the day...
The young and the old,
The rich and the poor
Have all played vai e vem
Since it was handed to them!
It was back in the day
When the parents used to say:
"While in here we can despise,
Out there we must disguise!"
Back and forth we went along
Left and right as sang the song
Vai e vem was no kid's play!
As the parents used to say...
Honoring the Homens da Nacao
You, oh Sons of Lusitania, I greet today…
For although dead and long gone,
Your dilemmas never ceased to be
A continuous reminder of our genesis…
It is well known that you did attempt
To bring back what they had taken,
And to forge the traditions of our fathers
In this forsaken No Man’s Land of afar…
Yes, in Brazil this was indeed short lived,
For soon after the Esnogas stood again,
Their walls met those indolent hands
Who, brick-by-brick, brought them down…
But so what? I dare to inquire,
For we all know that day-after-day
The compatriots of Hakham Da Fonseca
Never succumbed to the pits of dormancy …
What seemed lost was simply hidden,
And kept alive in a quiet manner,
By the likes of our mother Branca Dias
And by the operettas of Antonio DaSilva
So cry not, oh martyrs of this saga!
For its ending will be written by our pens!
Which shall honor the holocaust of your flesh
And the redemption of the Homens Da Nacao…
Why The Fado Cries
Some may ask the reason why
The Fado songs sound like a cry
Oh well…it must only be
Because of Portugal’s affairs with the seas
For through the seas many left
And by the seas many felt
The pains of parting for good
Never looking back, as they would…
The captured, the sailor, the brave
Felt what the sea freely gave;
Nostalgia! Saudades, for those who know
The longing that comes and goes
Now the fadista sings the songs
And the guitar follows it along
Attempting to cope with the past
Forgiving, forgetting, moving on at last…
Vai e Vem is No Kid's Play
Vai e vem...
Vem e vai...
Is that not the kid's play?
But who am I to say...
As the bottle comes and goes
When the strings open and close
Vai e vem all day...
That is the kid's play!
But be fooled no more!
For as we know by folklore,
Vai e vem is no kid's play!
By the end of the day...
The young and the old,
The rich and the poor
Have all played vai e vem
Since it was handed to them!
It was back in the day
When the parents used to say:
"While in here we can despise,
Out there we must disguise!"
Back and forth we went along
Left and right as sang the song
Vai e vem was no kid's play!
As the parents used to say...
Honoring the Homens da Nacao
You, oh Sons of Lusitania, I greet today…
For although dead and long gone,
Your dilemmas never ceased to be
A continuous reminder of our genesis…
It is well known that you did attempt
To bring back what they had taken,
And to forge the traditions of our fathers
In this forsaken No Man’s Land of afar…
Yes, in Brazil this was indeed short lived,
For soon after the Esnogas stood again,
Their walls met those indolent hands
Who, brick-by-brick, brought them down…
But so what? I dare to inquire,
For we all know that day-after-day
The compatriots of Hakham Da Fonseca
Never succumbed to the pits of dormancy …
What seemed lost was simply hidden,
And kept alive in a quiet manner,
By the likes of our mother Branca Dias
And by the operettas of Antonio DaSilva
So cry not, oh martyrs of this saga!
For its ending will be written by our pens!
Which shall honor the holocaust of your flesh
And the redemption of the Homens Da Nacao…