Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Shoulders Support The World - Poem by Carlos Drummond de Andrade

There comes a time when we no longer say: my God.
A time of absolute purity.
A time when we no longer say: my love.
Because love proved useless.
And eyes don’t cry.
And hands only weave in rough work.
And the heart is dry.

Women knock at the door in vain, don’t open it.
You stay alone, the light goes out,
and in the dark your eyes glow enormous.
You’re convinced, you no longer know suffering.
And you expect nothing from friends.

Old age matters little, what is old age?
Your shoulders support the world
and it weighs no more than a child’s hand.
The wars, famines, and talks in buildings
only prove that life goes on
and not all have freed themselves yet.
Some, finding the spectacle barbarous,
prefer (the delicates) to die.
There comes a time when there’s no point in dying.
There comes a time when life is an order.
Merely life, without perplexity.

Comments about Shoulders Support The World by Carlos Drummond de Andrade

  • Denis Mair (5/23/2016 5:36:00 AM)

    In the desert of the soul he goes on living, depending on nothing to feed his hopes. Like a gypsy song his words hit home with pain that is the default state of living. A child's hand on the shoulder hardly weighs anything, which makes it painful. With the language of a master he brings us to meet the beggar that we passed by just the other day. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, March 24, 2010

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