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Calderon said: life is a dream
A deceptive escort between two awakenings
Neither life nor death
Nor something third
Neither life after death
Nor death before life
And it dies among hour hands
Before it spends the night in our bodies
Segismundo chained by precarious stars in vain
Announces a great illusion
And circles of mute dreams
After one thousand and two hundred nights
I see my bones peering in the gardens
If eternity would rule before the dawn
Perhaps it would cure the loneliness
Neither the author or narrator and can change in the blink of an eye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This rings true to one's daily experience of death gradually extending its domain within the body, or life being tenuously stretched over the abyss of death. But distinctions of death vs. life belong to the theater of consciousness. There is a visionary who sees life and death as a whole. He is pulled outside the fleshly theater. Perhaps his own vision eludes him, because it belongs to the stars. Reading what you say about dreams, I see them in daylight as hope that leads us on. Then they die and spend the night in our bodies- -this is a fascinating leap of thought.