O Que Será [English translation]

What could it be

That they sigh for in the bedrooms?

That they whisper for in verses and stanzas?

That they agree about in the darkness of the nests?

That lives in heads, lives in mouths?

That they light candles for in the alleys?

That they speak loudly about at the pubs?

That they yell about in the markets? That with certainty

Can be found in nature, be what it may

What has no certainty, and will never have

What has no mending, and will never have

What has no size

What could it be

That lives in the ideas of those lovers?

That is sung by the most delirious of poets?

That is promised by the drunken prophets?

That happens in the pilgrimages of the mutilated?

That is found in the fantasies of the unhappy?

That is found in the day to day of the prostitutes?

In the plans of the thieves, the helpless

In all manners, be what it may

What has no decency, and will never have

What has no censorship, and will never have

What makes no sense

What could it be

That all the warnings will not prevent?

Because every laugh will defy

Because all bells will chime

Because all hymns will sanctify

And all the kids will hurl away

And all the destinies will meet each other

And the Eternal Father himself, who never went near

To look over that hell, will bless it

What has no rule, and will never have

What has no shame, and will never have

What has no judgement

What could it be that ails me

That stirs me from within, could it be?

That blooms on the surface of my skin, could it be?

That rises on my face and makes me blush

That jumps to my eyes and betrays me

And tightens in my chest and makes me confess

Which runs out of ways of being concealed

And what isn’t right for anyone to refuse

And makes me a beggar, makes me plead

What has no measure, and will never have

What has no medicine, and will never have

What has no recipe

What could it be

That happens inside of people and shouldn’t?

That undermines people, and is a flaw?

Which acts like a hard liquor that does not sate?

That feels like hurting after the revelry?

Which the ten commandments will never reconcile?

And neither all the ointments will alleviate

Neither all the witchcrafts, all the alchemies

And neither all the saints, be what it may

What has no reprieve, and will never have

What has no weariness, and will never have

What has no limits

What could it be that ails me

That burns me from inside, could it be?

That disturbs my sleep, could it be?

That all the tremors which come and shake me

That all the uncomfortable warmths come to stoke me

That all the sweats come to soak me

That all my nerves are imploring me

That all my organs are clamoring for

And a horrible affliction makes me beg

What has no shame, and will never have

What has no rule, and will never have

What has no judgment