Os Putos
Carlos do Carmo
The Kids
A cloth ball, in a puddle
A mischievous smile, a kick
Running down the hill, an arc
The sky in the eyes, of a kid.
A slingshot that shoots, hope
A sparrow in shorts, cunning
And the strength of being, a child
Against the force of a cop, who is rough.
They seem like flocks of sparrows on the loose
The kids, the kids
They are like Indians, leaders of the gang
The kids, the kids
But when the evening falls
The revolt goes away
They sit on their father's lap
It's the tenderness that returns
And they hear him talking about the new man
They are the kids of this people
Learning to be men.
The marbles shining in the hand
The will that jumps to the axis
A kid who says no
If the fight comes, I won't give in
A muffled top in school
A spinning top in the pocket, colorless
A kid begging for alms
Because hunger stifles his pain.
They seem like flocks of sparrows on the loose
The kids, the kids
They are like Indians, leaders of the gang
The kids, the kids
But when the evening falls
The revolt goes away
They sit on their father's lap
It's the tenderness that returns
And they hear him talking about the new man
They are the kids of this people
Learning to be men.
But when the evening falls
The revolt goes away
They sit on their father's lap
It's the tenderness that returns
And they hear him talking about the new man
They are the kids of this people
Learning to be men.
