Cantiga de berce

Sleep my baby, sleep,
without more crying,
the time to cry,
is passing
That the land you live in,
without tears,
needs whole men,
to set it free.
Sleep my baby, sleep,
take strength,
for the life that awaits you,
demands struggle.
It will collect the fruit
sown,
in the dark and cold winter,
we are in.
Seed made in blood by a people
that emerges from history, from sleep,
a sleep full of anger and misery,
a sleep of injustices and silence.
Look at the language I speak, despised,
for being the language of the poor, slave language,
I am the pride we have, language of the poor.
Only in them there is truth and more honors.
Sleep my baby, sleep, in this lap,
that this land of slaves has no hatred.
It has centuries of hope, awaited,
that today puts in the children it nurtures.