La Ruta

On the edge of a road there's a wooden cross,
Of cheap budget.
Plastic flowers adorn
The memory of the deceased.

On the cross someone has placed a cardboard,
Painted with sorrow.
Only a last name remains,
And a watercolor message,
That the rain has faded.

I approached to see what it said,
And it gave me chills.
Another voice repeated to me,
I put god as a witness!,
What my eyes were reading:

- 'traveler I am and will be.
I've made and will make paths.
My sight on the horizon.
I don't know when I'll arrive,
But if you see my cross,
Follow the route in my name' -

I don't believe in coincidences,
There's always an explanation.
But sometimes one finds
Impossibilities that confront,
Face to face, with reason.

Today I know the route extends,
From here to eternity.

Each tomb is a testimony
Left as heritage
For all of humanity.
I was told by a voice from 'beyond'.

Traveler I am and will be.
I make and will make paths.
My sight on the horizon.
I don't know where I'll end up,
But if you see my cross,
Follow the route in my name!
I follow the route in your name