Going Far Away Poem by Rando Santos

I'm going to be far away...
I'll escape from me one of these days,
For the time has come to travel to the seed,
Through ancient trails
That don't always lead to Rome.
I don't want to see my portrait growing old,
No handkerchiefs fluttering on the platform,
Only my footsteps in the mist, while machetes and roosters,
Wake up facing the day.
But you'll get to forgive me, when you find my sweat,
Climbing down your back.
I am the mountaineer who lost his wires,
The explorer who chases ruins
In a jungle that closes behind every step.
I'll come close to trying,
Setting myself up as an inquisitor and Galileo,
After perceiving how close the one who leaves can stay.

I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.
My feet are moving towards the unfathomable,
And by inertia I will not be able to return even if the path slips,
Worn out by the sandals of the pilgrims.
I must walk the ancient paths,
I must taste the blessing that life offers
To those who cut their moorings.
In my pocket will be the key we lost,
The chimes of the clock in the park,
That bench on the outskirts,
Together with this way of mine of embracing you,
Even without arms.

Because motives and doubts can be ignored.
Definitely,
I will not be one of those who yearn
for the lost paradises
that many try to recover.
Because nothing is the world without absurdity,
-which in turn would be meaningless-
Without you
and me.