Cançó de La Mort Callada

They ask: "Do you mourn,
when the song is given to you?
We accept this
silent death.
Humbly we love
our own death."

Clock: rose, sand,
rose, desert. What now?
Fear of the lost one watching
the light of the setting sun.

Wall of the night: barely
the rustle of wings
beyond the air, a dream
already imprisoned. I walk
followed closely by footsteps
in the snow.

And I feel how the mute
death of men takes away
my gift of words:
it becomes pure silence
my pain.