El barquero

One good day maybe a ferryman
set out across the sea of memories.
It was a small boat in the passage of time,
but there was faith,
but there was a strange glow in his eyes,
but there was a mystical urge for why,
but there was faith.

A dock is just a gut;
winter sea might be the morning;
a small boat is perhaps a clear soul;
and even if there’s faith,
and even if there’s a flow of love on my brow,
my face sinks so deep in the crowd,
that I just don’t know.

I’m tired of talking so much,
if everything’s been said till the end.
What’s more noise than the sound
of life, all the hustle and bustle?
So much space between my voice
and the ear that has to wait.
I’ve got nothing to say,
just look around and you’ll hear me.

One good day maybe a ferryman
set out across the sea of memories.
From his boat, between shout and silence,
it’s still unknown
which of the many has been his fate:
whether he found life or went with death
or simply got lost.