Caminante There Is not Way

A poem to finish the – week Caminante There Is not Way:

All raisin and everything remains,
But the ours is to happen,
Happen doing ways,
Ways on the mar.

Never persequí the glory,
Neither leave in the memory
Of the men my song;
I love the subtle worlds,
ingrávidos And gentile,
Like pomps of soap.

It likes me see them paint
Of sun and grana, fly
Under the blue sky, shiver
súbitamente And break…

Never I pursued the glory.

Caminante, are your footprints
The way and at all more;
caminante, there is not way,
It does way when walking.

When walking does way
And when going back the sight backwards
It sees the senda that never
Has to go back to step.

Caminante There is not way
But trails in the mar…

Does some time in this place
Where today the forests dress of espinos
It heard the voice of a poet shout
«Caminante There is not way,
It does way when walking…»

Hit to hit, verse to verse…

It died the poet far of the home.
It covers him the dust of a neighbouring country.
When moving away saw him cry.
«Caminante There is not way,
It does way when walking…»

Hit to hit, verse to verse…

When the jilguero can not sing.
When the poet is a pilgrim,
When of at all it serves us pray.
«Caminante There is not way,
It does way when walking…»

Hit to hit, verse to verse.

Antonio Machado