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The Echo of Words

Their words are like the sea,

abundant is its water,

but it does not quench the thirst.

 

I collected all the woods

that do not catch fire,

and threw them behind my back.

I looked back at them;

they seemed small and far.

I looked ahead;

the road was long..

and empty!

 

I lit candles for the blind,

and sprinkled grains

for the birds that perched

on my land.

They flew

without singing to the spring.

 

Nothing equals a poet's solitude in the night.

O night! Your darkness is purer

than the darkness of their hearts;

your silence is nobler than the silence

of their schemes and their plots.

 

In the crowd, I see the fragility of words,

the falsehood of pretence,

and the darkness of bad intentions.

 

What do I need all these lights for

when a poem is being written in the heart?

 

From afar, I see a swamp in whose darkness

swim those who think themselves swimmers.

I walk to the sea;

I step on its water,

moving away,

smiling,

tranquil.

 

From afar, I tilted my head up

to see them.

When I got closer,

I tilted my head down

to see them.

 

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