Poema de las cosas - Jose Angel Buesa
Quizás estando sola, de noche, en tu aposento
oirás que alguien te llama sin que tu sepas quién
y aprenderás entonces, que hay cosas como el viento
que existen ciertamente, pero que no se ven...
Y también es posible que una tarde de hastío
como florece un surco, te renazca un afán
y aprenderás entonces que hay cosas como el río
que se estan yendo siempre, pero que no se van...
O al cruzar una calle, tu corazón risueño
recordará una pena que no tuviste ayer
y aprenderás entonces que hay cosas como el sueño,
cosas que nunca han sido, pero que pueden ser...
Por más que tu prefieras ignorar estas cosas
sabrás por qué suspiras oyendo una canción
y aprenderás entonces que hay cosas como rosas,
cosas que son hermosas, sin saber que lo son...
Y una tarde cualquiera, sentirás que te has ido
y un soplo de ceniza regará tu jardín
y aprenderás entonces, que el tiempo y el olvido
son las únicas cosas que nunca tienen fin
10/08/2020 3.30AM
Maybe being alone, at night, in your quarters.
you'll hear someone call you without you knowing who
and you'll learn then, that there are things like the wind
that certainly exist, but that you don't see...
And it's also possible that an afternoon of exhausting
as a groove blooms, you are re-born an eagerness
and you'll learn then that there are things like the river
they're always leaving, but they're not leaving...
Or across a street, your laughing heart
will remember a pity you didn't have yesterday
and you'll learn then that there are things like sleep,
things that have never been, but that can be...
As much as you prefer to ignore these things
you'll know why you sigh by listening to a song
and you'll learn then that there are things like roses,
things that are beautiful, not knowing that they are...
And on any given afternoon, you'll feel like you're gone.
and a breath of ash will water your garden
and you'll learn then, that time and forgetfulness
are the only things that never end
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