In the labyrinth of my mind,
darkness and light intermingle.
The past is a shadow,
the present a battle.
But on the horizon shines a light,
the promise of a better future.
I cross the bridge,
leaving the shadows behind,
feeling the pain of the present,
but with the hope of a promising tomorrow.
For I am the dreamer of my own destiny,
and I will dream a luminous future
that illuminates my path,
with no shadow but that of the olive tree.
On the seas of destiny,
I sail on a wooden schooner,
under a sky of leaden clouds,
and a sea that churns like a furious titan.
The waves crash against the prow,
like hungry monsters destroying the calm,
and the wind, that great buffoon of the ocean,
shouts its challenges in the sailor's ear.
But in my hands is the helm,
and in my heart the indestructible faith.
No storm nor darkness can quench my course,
For I am the captain of my own dream.
I will cross the raging seas
until the sun, like a millenary lighthouse,
Shall light my way to thee.
In the night ocean, your echo whispers in the fog,
The moon calls to you, in its reflection you find solace,
In the depths, a pact with the abyss is sealed,
Bastian, sail with the sighs of heaven.
Echoes of the past echo in the swaying of the waves,
A song of sadness emanating from the heart of the sea,
Bastian, your spirit lies among the seaweed and shells,
In this realm of shadows where there is no turning back.
Thus, the sailor sails in his ghostly ship,
Adrift on a sea that reflects his melancholy,
And in this moonless night, his lonely heart beats,
As he waits for the dawn to bring comfort to his soul.
In the vastness of the ocean without a threshold,
The lonely captain sails in the blindest gloom,
Under a haunting sky that is silent,
While the sirens whisper their sad song.
The moon, absent from her heavenly throne,
Leaves the old cabin boy sailing by ear,
The demoniac Wrechouse becomes her sole crewman,
Amid the endless vastness of the sky clinging to the sea.
Dahud, cruel princess, sings claiming the captain's soul.
"Bastian, Bastian, your soul in the sea breeze,
Sail in the darkness, in the divine tide,
Leap with the wind, dance in eternity,
Your bones are the waves, in this dance without end."
His canvas remains blank,
Covered by the fog of inanity.
His painting is an enigma,
Without form or color,
Because he does not know what to paint,
If the reality he feels,
The one he sees or the one he is.
The dust settles on the canvas,
That pale memory,
Of the works he could never paint.
But he keeps searching,
Without rest,
For the inspiration that will allow him
To reveal the truth
Of his blackened existence.
In a dream, he sees.
The rain hits my window like an annoying curse,
The gothic sky is charged with gloom and bewilderment.
Nothing can stop the storm's anger,
Everything is at the mercy of its capricious will.
My city becomes an inhospitable and lonely whereabouts,
Where the downpour is the only sober company to be found.
The streets are filled with puddles and mud,
And all that was known to me disappears into the night.
So run for cover and seek shelter,
For the dark thunderstorm brings with it oblivion.
And when dawn breaks, the city will have changed,
And all that was lost in the rain will be gone forever.
The rain falls like a heavy black curtain,
Darkening the sky and the ground wide open.
Nothing is visible.
The stagehands take the opportunity to change the scenery.
Their deft footsteps echo on the wet sidewalk,
Things that are no longer useful are swept away by the current.
Dialogues without an addressee, heroes lost in the previous scene,
All is lost under the wet script, in its confusing letters.
The audience is in the dark,
Perhaps it always has been,
But it is the rain that falls like a heavy black curtain.
The breeze of understanding returns me to windward,
A subtle oblivion that does not let me move forward,
Leaving behind a waning nostalgia,
A desperate captain, a dull gaze,
deceived by the upside down wind.
Little Sirte, a port without end,
A voyage already aimless,
A deck without memory,
Stranded in the land of the lotophages.
The end of a game, the beginning of a new game.
New cards are dealt, some are not marked.
Dark kings seep into the soul,
But, this time, they bring a melody of rebirth and faith.
Outside, the dark night of Shevat, the first snowfall sets in,
And with it, the promise of endless rebirth,
Though doubt still floats in the cold wind,
It is the poet's challenge, to find hope in his five letters.
And while darkness covers the sky,
Uncertainty looms behind the bad gambler,
It is the dreamer's heart that guides us to win this hand.
Taciturn firefly, under the gray quilt of the firmament,
Alone on her journey, with no moon or stars to guide her.
With vain longing, and more sorrow than joy,
She stirs reasons to exist,
Even in the midst of blind darkness,
The fog is thicker than night.
The firefly would turn, but she has already forgotten her home,
Grief envelops it, like a vision in mourning.
The light abandons it, and with it all its folly.
My memory, a sad shadow dwelling in your Gehenna,
Slips into drowsiness.
Life, a gift borrowed again and again,
That is never enough. Not for you.
The present, a song out of tune,
A sad melody,
A feeling of absence,
A heart ignored.
You.
In the labyrinth of my mind, darkness and light intermingle. The past is a shadow, the present a battle. But on the horizon shines a light...
