Ohrwurm

The perfect pitch of silence ripens the mind
until that time when I return to my native state.
I resign my dissonance, my personal space,
listen to the seam of a rhyme my face addresses
instead of tending the expressions of the masses.
Messy, I say, like the past life of a lover
who sang: Agua de beber, Agua de beber, camará
                 Agua de beber, Agua de beber, camará

One-on-one, I wanted to believe in your
passionate sounds. I wanted to believe
in your talented kind of clowning that kept me
Around as a house left open during the day.
a melody drifts through the windows,
and I suppose the way we roamed legato
along the praia, the praça dos namorados,
the last time beside the listless sea,
I wanted to believe. But the perfect pitch
of your silence burrowed into me.

Eu quis amar mas tive medo
E quis salvar meu coração
Mas o amor sabe um segredo
O medo pode matar o seu coração

Bury me alive in your gentle carinhoso, my dear.
Bury me alive in the little song your face
rehearses in my ear. I wanted to believe
in your expert perturbation of my
complacent native state, not my mess
of late, mistaking these sad memories
for all this water left to drink.
You suddenly appear and again
so absent-mindedly you sing:
                 Agua de beber, Agua de beber, camará
                 Agua de beber, Agua de beber, camará
        : I wanted to believe . . .
        : I wanted to believe . . .
        : I wanted to believe . . .



© Tim Kahl