I'm No Fadista

Do my lyrics sound like an afterthought?

Mere beats for keeping with a chosen time.

Each one dutifully holding a spot, 

as if hands on a clock waiting to chime.

Were they but part of a fado, a journey,

not merely a blank space to be filled 

but syllables revealing a memory

of the places and people that have been.

Never repeating, the fadista collects

the words for imparting her story.

Her languid voice keeps on surging, urging

the crowd toward an unknown territory.

I wish this verse was good enough for her, 

but I’m no fadista,  just an amateur.