Entre marzo e abril

Estranamente sentín
Esa dor no peito
Nun día frío de marzo
Horas antes de ver
O wasap coa nova:
O cuco xa non ía voltar

O neno que foi servir
Na casa da plantación de tabaco
Fillo descalzo de zapateiro 
Botouse a camiñar pola vida
Fixo da palabra profesión
E sen ter deixado o país
Foi o máis cosmopolita
Falando só a nosa língua

Teceu unha rede de acollida
Para o adolescente que fun
Que aínda hoxe me protexe
Aprendeume que hai
Unha calor no ser humano
Que as reglas frías non
Son quen de apagar

Contra a presa da fábrica
á beira da que me criei
Estendeu a calma 
das cousas importantes
-Quencer os pes
Metendo herba seca 
nas botas de goma
-Prender a cociña cun carozo 
E unhas achas de bidueiro

Sei
Que el
Non se irá
Mentres viva
Eu, así escribo 
Só un poema de media
Bágoa, dor de diamante
Para o hospitalario
Labrego feirante
Manuel Cao
Muimenta
Adeus 
Avó

Between March and April

I felt strange
That chest pain
On a cold day in March
Hours before seeing
the news in whatsapp:
The cuckoo wasn´t return anymore

The boy who went to serve
In the tobacco plantation house
Barefoot son of a shoemaker
Set out to walk through life
Made the word his profession
And without having left the country
He was the most cosmopolitan
Speaking only our language

He wove a host network
For the teenager I was
That still protects me today
He taught me there is
A warmth in the human being
That cold rules are 
Not able to extinguish

Against the haste of the factory
next to which I grew up
He spread  the calm
of important things
- To warm the feet
by putting hay
inside wellington boots
-To ignite the stove with a corn cob
and some birch branches

I know
That he
Won't go away
As long as I´ll live
And that's why I write
A poem of just half a tear
Pain as hard as diamand
For the most hospitable
Farmer, cattle seller
Beloved grandfather
Manuel Cao
Moimenta
Fare-
well