.0oO0o.o0O0o.0oO0o.o0O0o..0oO0o.o0O0o.0oO0o.o0O0o.
*~8~*
.0oO0o.o0O0o.0oO0o.o0O0o.
.0oO0o.o0O0o.0oO0o.o0O0o.
*~8~*
Cantares… (Songs….Machado’s Testament)
All goes, and all remains
but our task is to go,
to go creating roads
roads through the sea.
My songs never chased
after glory to remain
in human memory.
I love the subtle worlds
weightless and charming,
worlds like soap-bubbles.
I like to see them, daubed
with sunlight and scarlet,
quiver, under a blue sky,
suddenly and burst…
I never chased glory.
Traveller, the road is only
your footprint, and no more;
traveller, there’s no road,
the road is your travelling.
Going becomes the road
and if you look back
you will see a path
none can tread again.
Traveller, every track
leaves its wake on the sea…
roads through the sea.
My songs never chased
after glory to remain
in human memory.
I love the subtle worlds
weightless and charming,
worlds like soap-bubbles.
I like to see them, daubed
with sunlight and scarlet,
quiver, under a blue sky,
suddenly and burst…
I never chased glory.
Traveller, the road is only
your footprint, and no more;
traveller, there’s no road,
the road is your travelling.
Going becomes the road
and if you look back
you will see a path
none can tread again.
Traveller, every track
leaves its wake on the sea…
Once in this place
where bushes now have thorns
the sound of a poet’s cry was heard
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
Step by step, line by line…
The poet died far from home.
Shrouded by dust of a neighbouring land.
At his parting they heard him cry:
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
Step by step, line by line…
When the goldfinch can’t sing,
when the poet’s a wanderer,
when nothing aids our prayer.
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
where bushes now have thorns
the sound of a poet’s cry was heard
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
Step by step, line by line…
The poet died far from home.
Shrouded by dust of a neighbouring land.
At his parting they heard him cry:
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
Step by step, line by line…
When the goldfinch can’t sing,
when the poet’s a wanderer,
when nothing aids our prayer.
‘Traveller there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
Step by step, line by line.
..0oO0o.o0O0o..0oO0o.o0O0o..0oO0o.o0O0o..0oO0o.o0O0o..0oO0o.
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| doodledoodeydoo |
