Poem: Brazil in Transition

I.

Brazil, my wounded Brazil,

the cry echoes on the avenue,

the clamor is born from the streets,

a tired, afflicted people,

but still keeps in their hearts

the spark of their love.

II.

The samba cries softly,

mixed with the madness,

of the recurring hunger,

of the uncertain future,

but there is strength in destiny,

there is courage in what is near.

III.

In the red and hot earth,

the resistant sweat sprouts,

of the worker who persists,

even when the ground is arid,

even when the sky closes,

he plants the vivid dream.

IV.

Brazil, my warrior Brazil,

your song is true,

even in times of torment,

there is hope that does not cease,

for those who samba and those who resist

make promise out of pain as well.