ISLAND

You live – sleeping mother – naked and forgotten,

dry,

battered by the winds,

to the sound of melodies without melody of the waters which hold us fast …

Island:

your mountains and your valleys did not sense the times pass,

and stayed in the world of your dreams

– the dreams of your sons –

to cry out to the winds passing,

and the birds flying, free

your anguish!

Island:

endless hills of red soil

– rough soil –

cragged rocks masking the horizons

sea at the four corners holding fast our anguish!

RETURN

Old Mama, come and listen with me

to the beating of the rain there at your gate.

It is a beating of a friend that throbs within my heart.

The friendly rain, Old Mama, the rainwhich for so long has not beaten like this … I heard it said that the Old City,

– the whole Island –

had in scant days become a garden …

They say that the countryside has turned verdant,

a most beautiful colour, because it is the colour of hope. The land, now, is truly Cape Verde –

– It is the storm becalmed …

Come with me, Old Mama, come, gather your strength to reach the gate.

The friendly rain has already come to greet you

and is beating within my heart.