Wandering in the mists

When will it end — this wandering, wandering, wandering. . .

mists

Sorrow, it is not true that I know you

Sorrow, it is not true that I know you;

You are the nostalgia for a good life,

And the aloneness of the soul in shadow,

The sailing ship without wreck and without guide.

Like an abandoned dog who cannot find

A smell or track and roams

Along the roads, with no road, like

The child who in a night of the fair

Gets lost among the crowd,

And the air is dusty, and the candles

Fluttering, — astounded, his heart

Weighed down by music and by pain;

That’s how I am, drunk, sad by nature,

A mad and lunar guitarist, a poet,

And an ordinary man lost in dreams,

Searching constantly for God among the mists.

                                  –Antonio Machado

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About Lightning Heart

Nomad. Poet. Philosopher. Teacher. View all posts by Lightning Heart

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