I will walk this path alone

until I have fallen in love

with the beautiful blue eyes of death.

Not the death they taught me.

Not the death they fear.

Not the death they humanly bemoan.

Not the ignoble one that walks the Earth.

I will walk this path alone,

because I know I will rise in the end.

I will never meet

the death they showed me.

I have grown old with the expectation
of smelling the oceans
and finding the nymph
who promised me in a dream to be there.

Even the venerable tree has grown tired
of watching me dream.

It seems as if the mirror,
the little liar,
has never stopped to deceive me.

Yet it may be her soul
that she is revealing to me.
My tired eyes fail to grasp it though.

At least I’m not alone.
My shadow keeps me company
despite my rejection.

Man of autumn
you have to be reborn
of the immaculate womb of the forest
that has been refreshed by the moon’s infatuation.

Man of spring
you have to see all things from the beginning,
both the snow that melts
and the buds that shed tears.

Man of spring
look again at all those things that come to life.

Man of summer
you are the one who will meet the sea,
the one who will step onto the lonely beach.

Man of the full moon
bury your feet deep into the sand,
make the earth feel you.

Man of winter,
son of the snow and the north wind,
swallow the lightnings that will hit you
in absolute nothingness where they mislead you
and spew the fire faster so that you reach them.

You are the eternity
I live
I cry
Not from thirst
But from longing.

I want to live
I want to hold on
Tightly, to the world
On top of the highest mountain.

I remain silent in the moment
Imploring you
This universe
To hold tight.

Show me for an instant
The picture
The one that I lost
Forgotten all these years.

Give me for a spell the slingshot
To target
What I wasted
All my years.

So that was it
The infinite journey of life.
Whoever, humbly, worshipped much
Lacked the time to cry.

Look for the drunkard
Who read in your eyes.
Find the one who told you then
That you would cry for youth.

Look also for your enemies
Who made you cry.
Tell them how they did well
That you will not forget them.

Look for the midwife
Who heard your first cry.
Ask her if she can
Repeat this miracle.

Once poets tried to rescue philosophy
But she was too heavy
So they drowned in and with her.

From the drowned and the drowning
Do not expect breath
Nor oxygen.

Just lift your glass
Look at the moon
And toast to your health.

Do not hurry
Because of all the things
That reason could not fathom on your lonely path.

The universe still hears you.
Blaze your trail.