Sorrow, it is not true that I know you;
you are the nostalgia for a good life,
and the aloneness of the soul in shadow,
the sailing ship without wreck and without guide.
Like an abandoned dog who cannot find
a smell or a track and roams
along the roads, with no road, like
the child who in a night of the fair
gets lost among the crowd,
and the air is dusty, and the candles
fluttering–astounded, his heart
weighed down by music and the pain;
that’s how I am, drunk, sad by nature,
a mad and lunar guitarist, a poet,
and an ordinary man lost in dreams,
searching constantly for God among the mists.
translated by Robert Bly
Leonard Durso 
Wow. Who hasn’t been that child lost in the crowd at the fair at some point in their life?
And who hasn’t been wandering around in a mist?
Beautiful friend!
I’m glad you liked it. Machado is a wonderful poet.
Reblogged this on Leonard Durso.
This is sad, yet true and lonely and hits you deep in the heart.
Yes, it does.