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(poema traduzido)

Charles, quiet down, love

is what you're looking at:

kisses today, does not kiss tomorrow,

the day after tomorrow is sunday

and monday nobody knows

what will be.

It is useless to resist

or even to commit suicide.

Do not kill yourself, oh don't,

set your whole self aside for

wedding anniversaries that nobody knows

when they'll come,

if they'll come at all.

Love, Charles, you telluric,

the night elapsed inside you,

and the frustrations sublimating,

an ineffable noise within,

prayers,

gramophones,

saints making the sign of the cross,

a commercial about soap,

noises that nobody knows

from what,

for what.

Nonetheless you walk

all forlorn and upright.

You're the palm trees, you're the yell

that nobody heard in the theater

and all the lamps go out.

Love in the gloom, no, under the light,

it's always sad, Charles, my son,

but don't tell anybody about it, nobody will ever know.

- Carlos Drummond de Andrade