Cantares

Everything passes and everything remains
But what is ours is to pass
To pass making a path
A path over the sea
I never pursued glory
And to leave the memory
Of men my song
I love subtle worlds
Weightless and gentle
Like soap bubbles
I like to see them paint themselves
Blue and crimson as they fly
Trembling under the blue sky
Suddenly and breaking
I never pursued glory
Traveler, your footprints are
The path and nothing more
As you walk, you make the path
And upon looking back
You see the path that will never be stepped on again
Traveler, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Some time ago in that place
Where the forests dress in thorns
The voice of a poet was heard shouting
Traveler, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
The poet died far from home
Covered by the dust of a neighboring country
As he walked away, they saw him cry
Traveler, there is no path
The path is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
When the nightingale doesn't want to sing
When the poet is a pilgrim
When praying is of no use
Traveler, there is no path
The path is made by walking
And blow by blow, verse by verse (x3)