Old, blind
And haggard looking
Old Guitarist,
O you
With the guitar
Hunched over
And threadbare clothing
Still there,
there
With the instrument
In your old
As your sole love,
Sole profession
Seeking refuge in,
Finding repose in,
Solace with,
It is art which but never dies,
It is love which but not!
O, you with the guitar,
What did you to the world
And what did the world give to you,
Guitarist,
Old Guitarist,
O you, the Guitarist,
Walking into the streets
Of Spain, Barcelona
Which but not aloof
From the eyes of Picasso, Pablo Picasso?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem