Exile
Of our Homeland,
All that is left here for us is our Language
And little more …
For our having had the glory
of once being
The land of Corte Real
Has disintegrated,
In the dearth of remembrance…
And we are also left with this truth:
That we are left with the best part of the Homeland.
Our heroes become stone
Or turn to dust.
But our Language has no end,
It only thrives
For all eternity.
Every work of man disintegrates,
Destroyed by time
Or misfortune.
Our Language, which is learned
And which is passed down,
Only it grows,
Melodious and pure,
In the soul of the people who speak it
And each day
Re-create it…
And so it is that, in this sad exile,
This truth
Remains with us
And consoles us:
For the Homeland
Leaves us its best part
And its greatest glory.
Teacher and poet Joaquim José Serpa (1937), born in Lajedo das Flores, has worked in Flamengos and Horta, Faial, in Caldas da Rainha, in Lisbon, and in the United States, where he resides.
Katharine F. Baker and Dr. Bobby Chamberlain
