Shoulders Bear the World
Comes a time when you no longer say: my Lord.
A time of absolute purification.
A time when you no longer say: my love.
For love turned out to be useless.
And the eyes do not cry.
And the hands weave only the rough work.
And the heart is dry.
Women knock at the door in vain - you won't open it.
You keep to yourself, the light has burnt out,
but in darkness your eyes shine enormous.
You are convinced: you no longer know how to suffer.
And you expect nothing from your friends.
The aproach of old age matters little - what is old age?
Your shoulders bear the world and it weighs no more
than a child's hand.
Wars, famines, the arguments inside the buildings
prove only that life goes on
and not everybody has freed himself yet.
A few (the delicate ones), upon finding the show
cruel, would rather die.
A time has come when to die is useless.
A time has come when life is an order.
Merely life, without mystification.
Carlos Drummond de Andrade