Poem of the fugitive joys - Part 2 (Poema de los júbilos fugaces - Segunda parte)

From my Dad’s book Urgent poetry (Poesía de urgencia).

Poem of the fugitive joys - Part 2 (Poema de los júbilos fugaces - Segunda parte)

There were no good mornings,

nor conventional greetings, love used to flow

in this tongue without complications

that is mutual language of lovers.

The thread of the telephone

used to bring me your voice.

The things that you used to say

were always the same beautiful things

that occupied the candour of illusory dreams,

the time when we met, for example,

the place you were walking by,

the excitement of “should I say something?”

and the certainty of the love that you used to repeat

in a taciturn goodbye cut short.

It was my belief that I did not know your name.

You lived in the world

but the world was the address that you used to give me.

I did not understand your signals

nor the place of your dreams

or your name, different to that name

that I learnt by heart,

nor where you came from

or where you disappeared to, sweet friend of mine.

What taciturn night

will destroy this voice that sings to you?

What wind will take

to what faraway places

these verses that I write

for your eyes only?

I would say that you were

like an abandoned road when I turned into

its only traveller.

I took the course and the shadow

and we became one,

road and traveller.

Forward went our steps.

You would suddenly interrupt the harmony

of flowers and songs

that bordered the road

when you would look back.

Then you would scare away the dreams

that preceded the joyful stride

of the traveller.

Where will you be in this moment

my transient loved one

who gave me honey from honeycombs

still filled by the rumour

of the hard working bees?

You passed by hasty like the wind

in my city of winds and

of breezes.

A vision of you

will subsist in my mind.

You will leave my soul

but not completely.

My poems will be

in your hands one day.

You will find yourself in them.

Time will have erased

their reason, their meaning.

But you, like me,

will suffer the nostalgia

of the old joyful days.