Cantares

Everything passes and everything remains
But ours is to pass
To pass by making paths
Paths over the sea
I never pursued glory
And to leave in the memory
Of men my song
Let's go, humble worlds
Ungrateful and gentle
Like soap bubbles
I like to see them paint themselves
With sunlight as they fly
Under the trembling blue sky
Suddenly and break
I never pursued glory

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

So at some time in that place
Where today the forests dress in clothes
The voice of a poet was heard shouting
Traveler, there is no road
The road 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 road
The road is made by walking
Blow by blow
Verse by verse

When the goldfinch cannot sing
When the poet is a pilgrim
When praying is of no use
Traveler, there is no road
The road is made by walking
Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse
Blow by blow, verse by verse