Caminante No Hay Camino

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 in the memory
Of men my song
I love subtle worlds
Weightless and gentle
Like soap bubbles

I like to see them, paint themselves with Sun and crimson fly
Under the blue sky tremble suddenly and break
I never pursued glory

Traveler, your footprints are the path and nothing more
Traveler, there is no path, the path is made by walking
By walking, the path is made
And when looking back
You see the path that will never be stepped on again
Traveler, there is no path, only wakes in the sea

Some time ago in that place
Where today the forests dress in thorn
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 goldfinch does not 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
Blow by blow, verse by verse

When the goldfinch does not 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
Blow by blow, verse by verse

When the goldfinch does not 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
Blow by blow, verse by verse

Antonio Machado, Songs