You were quiet, grim expression,
Leader who spoke little and precisely.
Friend of cyclists!
They took their bikes to you
For a repair and, you did it like a
Master would.
And you couldn’t say “no,” that you
Wouldn’t do them a favor, because
Sometimes you wouldn’t charge.
You had friends, some always
Surrounded you under the shadows
Of a Tala tree and a Paradise.
They’re who will talk about you;
They’re who will praise you
For each morning and evening shared
And you sitting down on the threshold
Of your front door.
“Why on that threshold?” – I wondered.
Alone, there you were with the bikes
And it was night already.
You were father, brother, friend, husband,
Neighbor of the good neighbor
Woman’s,
Like an oasis for the desert traveler.
You knew what people were asking
About,
Who would decipher your captivating
Loneliness?
Today your kind soul is saying goodbye;
We are left mute and lonely
In front of the threshold.
The shadows of the Tala
And the Paradise
Are going away with you!