The old man goes down the street.
His memories go with him, faithful companions
down the street.
His gray hair shines in the summer sun.
How many summers behind?
How many summers ahead?
He does not know
he does not count.
His memories make him forget.
Time and again in his stroll he goes down the streets of his youth.
They are always with him, the streets of his youth
in every street he walks down.
He knows the streets are but one,
have been one throughout his life
throughout his walk
and they all lead to the same end.
(Inspirado
em um poema de Konstantinos Kaváfis)
