To a lost friend

 

As a man, following the tracks of others
who left their foots engraved in sand that no wave could erase,
I have been always attracted towards what is unknown,
what presents a mystery, what is insurmountable;
as a man, I find sometimes answers to questions I did not ask,
find a piece of truth buried in a bigger mystery,
work out a problem to find another, bigger,
to render itself to an abler soul;
in scarce stories can one find a story of a man
who found more than he expected, this is what happened to me.

Perhaps I saw first sea as a young boy;
as young my soul was then, I forgot but the tiniest details:
a wave, a shell, a rumble and a sun hidden behind a curved lens;
man of earth and dust, these eyes of mine saw for years of youth and grow and work,
stars in the sky, dust on earth, friendly souls on friendly faces, but I forgot the sea.
Later I came again, and these eyes of mine saw the same sea with older eyes,
and saw –or just imagined- desolation, solitude, calm, happiness, beauty, respect, admiration, nostalgia and fear;
these eyes of mine saw the rumble,
these ears, my always observant windows to the world,
saw gentle forms disguised on the roaring of waves.

This soul of mine could not see nor hear
what heard and saw my ear and sight;
this soul of mine is deaf and blind, this heart of mine thought of his Sybil:
she could embrace a world not yet in color, and yet, alas,
she cannot hear nor see what senses, made of dust and mug,
rejoice themselves in rumbling and lights of colored beams, on beans of sand, on sand made of aged shells;
she is blind, being deaf, joined eyes and ears with heart;
I am not blind, I do hear, but see and hear other, bigger and deeper,
more colored and more harmonious sounds and beams
than those simple screams of waves and fading light of sun.

Soul was there to tell me –and not blurred eyes nor blocked ears-
that sea was desolated but not more alone, because he took the life of man.
Many a man’s life, said I; yes, but only one who was your friend.
For a moment, for a glimpse, over there on a wave’s crest,
I thought I saw again for only a time; the eyes and ears, the hair and voice,
his eyes green on a stoned wall full of water.
Carlos lost his life here, in Maruata;
for a moment I thought and sure I say I saw him again, only once;
in return, this big and new friend of mine, allows me to wonder
what is desolation, solitude, calm, happiness, beauty, respect, admiration, nostalgia and fear.

Nothing changes and yet, it is never again the same.
Carlos left for good, but left a good copy of him;
this new Carlos could be also my mate, but years and age,
his being part of Carlos against my better known Carlos,
tear us apart and in the end,
this new Carlos will follow his own way,
the same I follow the steps of many others that came, before me,
to hear the same voices and to see the same sun,
with other eyes and ears than mine, also feeling, also at end, calm and peace on sea,
perhaps sadness, maybe beauty,
always render in admire.