I am one of those people who soaks everything in. For some it could be considered my hugest flaw, but for others it is a gift that I perceive over and beyond. I'm not honestly sure where this is going tonight. I've decided to just type and we'll see if any of this makes sense when I hit send. I'm just getting in from hanging with some great friends and I made a conscious decision to stop socializing so I could go to the gym for a Masala Bhangra class. I find myself now wide awake with nothing but time to think about a number of items. One of those happens to be a poem that someone sent me recently. Here it is:
Hora tras hora, día tras día,
entre el cielo y la tierra que quedan
eternos vigías,
como torrente que se despeña
pasa la vida.
Devolvedle a la flor su perfume
después de marchita;
de las ondas que besan la playa
y que una tras otra besándola expiran
recoged los rumores, las quejas,
y en planchas de bronce grabad su armonía.
Tiempos que fueron, llantos y risas,
negros tormentos, dulces mentiras,
¡ay!, ¿en dónde su rastro dejaron,
en dónde, alma mía?.
When I was first sent the poem I simply went on google translate, but tonight while I was out and about the first line of the poem was on repeat in my head like a broken record. The people that know me best know that patience is a virtue that I'm learning to master slowly. Hopefully, I'll understand and embrace the meaning of this poem soon enough or I'll simply place it in my war chest of memories.
dyism:
Just because you attempt to translate when speaking a different language or you're on a different page, does not mean that it will be coherent.
--
