Poetry dances and dances
and seeks beauty inside the heart,
celestial centres.

Poetry dances and dances
and prays,
and goes deep into the soul of all things,
and sucks honey from eternity,
stocking up on a light that never dies,
thinking of the future,
when the time comes for us
to start a long voyage
and to forget this Earth forever,
when we'll never see a single rose,
or a dawn or friendly colours.
Poetry dances victorious
upon the ice melting,
upon the wind fleeing,
upon the surface and the distance
of a lost world.

Poetry dances
and raises its eyes
in love,
and while dancing it pronounces
a profound word of freedom,
like a bright seed
beyond space and time,
that roots and grows
and creates a universe,
a house in the Silence,
roses without sadness,
a life without lies.

Juan Bielsa