domingo, 24 de marzo de 2013

Walker no way


Everything passes and everything is
but ours is passed,
spend on roads,
roads on the sea.

Never pursued glory,
or leave in memory
of men my song;
I love the subtle worlds,
weightless and Gentiles
like soap bubbles.

I like to see painted sunglasses and scarlet,
flying under blue sky,
suddenly tremble and break ...
Never pursued glory.

Walker your footsteps are the road, and nothing more;
walker, no path is made by walking.

The path is made by walking
and looking back
one sees the path that never
has trod again.
Hiker no road Only wakes upon the sea ...

Some time ago in this place
where forests today are dressed in thorns
came the voice of a poet shout
Traveler there is no path, you make the road by walking ...

Stroke by stroke, line by line ...
The poet died far from home
dust covers you from a neighboring country.
Moving away, saw him mourn.
"Traveler, there is no road, the road is made by walking ..."

Stroke by stroke, line by line ...
When the goldfinch can not sing
when the poet is a pilgrim,
It's useless when praying.
Traveler there is no path, paths are made by walking.

Stroke by stroke, line by line.