Não queremos o sangue das crianças
na boca das batalhas posto
— fauce podre de lamas desertas
Mas correndo vivo sob o rosto
numa alegria de flores abertas
Não queremos o sangue dos jovens
cobrindo o frio das Baionetas
— morto lume verde sobre a neve
Mas correndo a arder nas noites pretas
para que as manhãs cantem breve...
We do not want the blood of children
In the mouth of battles placed
— Rotten jaws of deserted muds
But running alive under the face
In a joy of open flowers
We do not want the blood of the young
Covering the cold of bayonets
— Dead green light on the snow
But running to burn in the black nights
So that the mornings may sing soon
translated by Richard Zenith
na boca das batalhas posto
— fauce podre de lamas desertas
Mas correndo vivo sob o rosto
numa alegria de flores abertas
Não queremos o sangue dos jovens
cobrindo o frio das Baionetas
— morto lume verde sobre a neve
Mas correndo a arder nas noites pretas
para que as manhãs cantem breve...
We do not want the blood of children
In the mouth of battles placed
— Rotten jaws of deserted muds
But running alive under the face
In a joy of open flowers
We do not want the blood of the young
Covering the cold of bayonets
— Dead green light on the snow
But running to burn in the black nights
So that the mornings may sing soon
translated by Richard Zenith
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-Iynq12oBLQlsPgcDF6k6qPhS2V7eEWG0laAjubUd3O6PHKbS0nHRMAKr-uqSUE2YrC2ALO40ktD2F-rZ8gy5Avvw2ZJTc3NTLaroMyf-GR9oZIz6iM_g4NDnRi6zH5cuO-WCofAHeD9wMFB0zKPkdlbgGKJH7ESn4MrUARR7-O6PhV07J0QtqdIKbw/s1600/0085-Luis%20Veiga%20Leitao.png)
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