... I love the subtle worlds, weightless and gentiles ...
SONGS
Everything happens and everything remains,
but ours is to pass,
spend on roads, paths
on the sea.
never looked for glory,
or leaving the memory of men
my song
I love the subtle worlds, weightless
and Gentiles,
like soap bubbles.
I like to see painted
sun and scarlet,
fly under the blue sky, shaking
and break suddenly.
never looked for glory.
Traveler, your footprints
the way and nothing more;
traveler, there is no path,
is made by walking.
By walking the path
and look back
you see the path that has
never walked again.
Caminante no hay camino
but wakes in the sea ...
some time ago in this place
where the forests are dressed in thorns
heard a poet's voice shouting
"Caminante no hay camino,
is made by walking ..."
Stroke by stroke, line by line ...
The poet died far from home.
Covered by dust from a neighboring country.
they saw him mourn.
"Caminante no hay camino,
is made by walking ..."
Stroke by stroke, line by line ...
When the finch can not sing.
When the poet is a pilgrim,
when nothing helps us pray.
"Caminante no hay camino,
is made by walking ... "
Stroke by stroke, line by line ...
...
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