nom
veñas chorando onde min,
aí nom estou, nim durmo.
son o
vento que vai a milleiros
son a
neve que cae queda.
son os cómodos
mantos da chuvia,
son os
campos de grao madurando.
son o
silenzo da mañá
son a grácil
bandada
de
paxaros lindos que pasan voando en círculo,
son o
reflexo das estrelas na noite.
son as
flores que abrollan,
e estou
nun cuarto calado.
son os
paxaros que cantan,
e estou
en canta marabilla existe.
nom
veñas chorando onde min,
aí nom
estou, eu nom morro.
Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004)
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fileds of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
tradución mala de @xindiriz
2022
