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Poem

Beautiful is the poet's carriage, my love,
That can be heard passing among us.
But, Lord, what a long journey it has made,
How pale and weary the poet seems to be!
And what happens, poet, in heaven and on the horizon,
And how is it still to live in the wide world?
Does the poet come from the depths of the soul?
Does he come from the realm of dreams to us?
And tell us if everything is just an illusion,
And tell us if we are mistaken.
A song can be heard, a rhythm of longing,
Which cries its sweet echo,
The poet's carriage, which carries us through love,
Can be heard passing among us.
And some dreams are born, others fade,
At this sign, the stars detach,
And the tear trembles in longing.
And I fear, I fear that everything is just so,
On the edge of our tender reality,
The poet's carriage passes through the streets of life,
On the path of light we carry.
It always passes, it is heard towards us,
On the path of love that we embrace,
But the carriage seems insubstantial,
And we are just shadows bathed in dawn.
Whenever there is love on this earth,
Along with the last steps,
The poet's carriage will always pass among us,
In songs and memories.
Be ready to greet it with honor,
Even if you feel the foreign sadness,
For the poet's carriage will eternally pass,
And it will never stop.

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