He remembers the untraveled roads,
The timid stars behind the sun,
The waters lost to the sea,
The brief mornings filled with dusks
He remembers his dreams.
He dreams of women,
Of beers his hands can't hold,
Of the untraveled roads,
He dreams, inhaling the sea
In unending mornings filled with dusks.
It becomes his thirst, his memory, yearnings.
It becomes what he sees, or says he sees,
In the emptiness the departure creates
Not departure, not emptiness,
But of men walking towards the sea or sun
Of children returning home.
He remembers the child in his dreams
They are not God's; He owns him not,
He stares at his palms as though he could see
Or as though God or heaven dwelt there,
He stares, his eyes, openly bright, has not light
But a deep in the darkness living there.
He remembers the untraveled roads,
The timid stars behind the sun,
The waters lost to the sea,
The brief mornings filled with dusks
He remembers his dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem