Alberto Caeiro / Fernando Pessoa (4)
When spring comes round again
I may no longer be in the world.
I would like to think that the spring is a person
So that I could imagine she would weep,
Seeing she had lost her only friend.
But the spring isn’t even a thing:
It’s a manner of speaking.
Not even the flowers come back, or the green leaves.
There are new flowers, new green leaves.
There are other sweet days.
I may no longer be in the world.
I would like to think that the spring is a person
So that I could imagine she would weep,
Seeing she had lost her only friend.
But the spring isn’t even a thing:
It’s a manner of speaking.
Not even the flowers come back, or the green leaves.
There are new flowers, new green leaves.
There are other sweet days.
Nothing returns, nothing is repeated, because everything is real.
(de Poemas Inconjuntos; trad. Magaret Jull Costa)
(de Poemas Inconjuntos; trad. Magaret Jull Costa)