A Sombra


A tense emotion in the opening of the rough plastic from that blu container, adorned by objects from the living Portugal. That moments in which you would like to accelerate the events to arrive quickly to the emotion that you foresee, but the same emotion that you will have impede you to do that, altering your movements, your thoughts, your words.
A trembling hand not mine insert the sliver-blue music object in the cold and insensitive jaws of the stereo.
The music unveil, with few notes...
The guitar, the strings do arpeggios dancing on the warm notes of the brasses. The melody, graceful and malicious woman, still hides, falsely shy, between the fingers of the famous Antonio, leaving visible to our ears that centimeters of sonorous skin that always feed the morbid will to possess, to possess music, to possess its emotion.
The esposition of the theme starts again and the melody grant its voice, as from behind a curtain. An unknown instrument sings with woman voice, as violin or viola, the fantastic and oneiric melody, whispering it as we whisper the lullaby to a baby. It is a melody with no words, a sweet singing of a woman lost in her perfumed privacy. And this voice pour in the mind the scents of a woman, her room, the mirror, accomplice of beauty and casket of her glances. It is a perfumed voice, a woman's voice.
The exposition of the theme starts again and with it the woman appear from behind the curtain, showing her face and granting us the strenght of her word. Her name is Teresa, beautiful and sorrowful, but serene and titanical. She shows herself in that way, in her face and in her sad and calm gestures that move the air of our room with the same flowing of the music. Her voice appear, the true one, the one sung to the man and not to the baby, the voice ask, scream the pain and, with it, the love.

Se a noite escura demora
Cativa dentro do peito
Pressinto quando me deito
A voz de alguém
Que hoje não vem
E mora em mim a toda a hora

If the dark night delays
closed inside my chest
I feel when I went to bed
the voice of someone
that won't come tonight
and that lives in me in every moment

The singing calm itself and the whisper returns... the woman, that sang to us, now close itself in the prayer to her heart. The woman cries... but cries also for the beauty of her love, because every tears is also of joy.

Falando grave e escondida
Por entre as coisas reais
Suspende a força da vida
E não é ninguém: ah, não é ninguém
Somente sombra e nada mais

Speaking low and hidden
among the real things
it suspend the force of life
and it is nobody; ah, it is nobody
Only shadow and nothing more

The woman seem to desist, bend by her pain. She doesn't sings anymore. She is on the bed, the head between the hands, thinking about who's not there, about the one for whom she painted herself of the colours of the sky. She saw him in the mirror, his hand present in her hair, his voice in the whispers of the objects.
But he is not there, he won't come, far away he lives, thinks and dreams. Only vane traces of him as words and memories of past times. The woman cries and lonely cries, while her heart push in its movement the tears to her eyes making them flow on the face in wet strings that love would have painted of rainbow. Now, that strings plays sorrowful notes sustaining the woman in her fight against desperation.
The woman, silent, start whispering again, almost interrupted by the tears and sobs. But the woman sings again. It is hope that moves her, that sustains her, that rises her face and that makes her stand up, proud and titanical 'cause of the pain already felt.

Porém a voz que se ouvia
Morre com a noite no cais
E o sol agora me alumia

Ends the voice that was heard
It dies with the night in the street
and the sun now shines on me.

The woman now has risen, see the sun entering, shy but already warm, from a hole in the window and she has the courage to open that window that for so many nights closed her in her pain for longing. She opens that window and leave the sun to heal the wounds infected by desperation. In that sun is saudade.
At the window, looking at the world enlightened of light, of the light of the love of her lover, she feels hope, return, future.
With the light the sounds, the strings and the guitar calmly retire in their nocturnal world of melody, giving a warm and partaking goodbye to the woman that they accompanied that night.



from the site Madredeus - O Porto - http://go.to/madredeus