translated from Spanish
May poetry be like a key
That opens a thousand doors.
A leaf falls. Another flies by.
May as much as the eye can see be created
And may the soul (that hears) tremble forever.
Invent new worlds and cultivate the word.
An adjective, when it does not give life, kills it.
We are in the cycle of nerves—
Our muscles hang
Like memories, in museums,
But our strength is not diminished.
True vigor
Resides in the head.
Poets! Why sing of roses?
Make them blossom in your poems!
Only there, for each of us
Lives everything under the sun.
A poet is like a small god.
2 comments:
not sure where I originally came across this one.
This is a crazyy poem!
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