Transparente

Like the water from a spring
My hand is see-through
In my grandma's eyes.

Between the earthly and the divine
My black grandma knew
These things of destiny.
It flows the sea I see
Into the rivers of this desire
Of those born to sing.

A Zambezi river like the Tejo
So sung that I envy
Lisbon, for living there.

I see a braided hair
And the warm chant of fado
In a shawl of curls.

Like in a fairy tale
The drumbeats are guitars
And the palm trees, sunflowers.

My black grandma knew
How to read the things of destiny
In the palm of every gaze.

Whether life wants it or not
God told the witch
That I was born to sing.