THAT stranger, that new arrival
who talks to himself-he doesn´t know I´m listening-
and who asks, I don´t know whom, "why did you return?"
while he wipes away with a white cloud
the sorrow tattooed upon his face,
the claw marks caused by time,
and once again he asks, "why did you return?"
that one, the one I see, the one I´m listening to
from this side of the looking glass,
where? who can he be talking to?
AFTER all, all has been for naught,
even though it once had ben for all.
After naught, or after all,
I found out that all was nothing more than naught.
I cry out "All!" and the echo answers "Naught!"
I cry out "Naught!", and the echo answers "All!"
Now I know that naught was really all,
and all was but ashes of what once was naught.
Naught is all remains of what was naught.
(In my hopes and dreams what I believed was all
was really nothing more, in fact, than naught.)
What does it matter that naught has been for naught,
if naught will only come to naught, after all,
after so much striving after all for naught.
Edited by Ayuntamiento de San Sebastián de los Reyes - Patronato Municipal de Servicios (U.P.), 1999, Spain. Translated by Gordon McNeer
Thanks to Ana Jular and Ignacio Aller who kindly gave me this book.