Classic Poem

This my heart, so flowing and so simple,
is by now almost a fountain underneath my tears.

It is a sorrow sitting somewhere beyond death
A sorrow that is waiting ... waiting ... waiting ...

Every hour passes with death on its shoulders,
I alone remain still with my shadow in my arms.

The dusk doesn't cease its blows against my eyes,
nor does life bring me down like a tired tree.

This my heart that cannot even hear itself,
that cannot even feel itself so silent and so lasting.

How many times on aimless walks have I seen it
gathering illusions like a lake full of stars!

It is a sorrow sitting somewhere beyond death,
a sorrow made of thorns and disbanded dreams.

Believing myself a seagull, seeing me take flight,
surrendering to the stars, to find myself in the puddles.

I who always believed I could shed my anguish
by merely hurling my soul to spin among the stars!

Oh, my sorrow, sitting somewhere beyond death!
This my heart so flowing and so lasting!