Paths
My paths are a starting point.
They are a collection of the fascination I feel when I discover them…
Paths hide a thousand possibilities; they can open up a new path or close another.
Paths get lost or they find each other again.
There are those who no longer offer a way out, those who are a birth, those who destroy themselves, and those who discover a new heaven.
I love their poetry
I love the poem from Antonio Machado expressing it, that has always kept me company and that Joan Manuel Serrat sang in a record that I used up by listening to it in the days of vinyl records
“Caminante no hay camino, se hace camino al andar…”
(traveler, there’s no road, the road is your travelling….)
“All goes, and all remains,
but our task is to go,
to go creating roads
roads through the sea.
My songs never chased
after glory to remain
in human memory.
I love the subtle worlds
weightless and charming,
worlds like soap-bubbles.
I like to see them, daubed
with sunlight and scarlet,
quiver, under a blue sky,
suddenly and burst…
I never chased glory.
Traveler, the road is only
your footprint, and no more;
traveler, there’s no road,
the road is your travelling.
Going becomes the road
and if you look back
you will see a path
none can tread again.
Traveler, every track
leaves its wake on the sea…
Once in this place
where bushes now have thorns
the sound of a poet’s cry was heard
‘Traveler there’s no road
the road is your travelling…’
Step by step, line by line…”
