Quando acaba a tinta

Translated by: Marco Casemiro

When black runs dry,

And darkness flickers alight,

It seems the ink grows scarce,

And the quill takes flight.

As I try to grasp it,

With fingers pinched and tight,

I trace patterns in the air,

As one who paints, but not quite

Suddenly a fragrance

Sprouts from the ground;

I pluck the flower —

The scent of life, of colour profound —

And with it, I write.