Alone with the cold

Miranda - The Tempest, by John William Waterhouse (1916)

Alone with the cold,

Alone with the tides of time,

I whisper to the old

Deep past of mine.

It sank in the years

Beyond the edge of mortality,

Taking dreams, tears and fears

And their own reality.

Will it come back to learn

What it hasn't learnt before?

Will it be able to discern

The lost way to the shore?

The waves which bring the future
Are uncertain but they unfold
Unknown changes that can nurture
The old past I still hold.

Hurad Duruvan

É certa

É certa

A incerteza que me habita,

Tão certa quanto a melancolia

Da despedida

E a lágrima escondida

Que o olhar contém.

*

It is certain

The uncertainty that dwells in me,

As certain as the melancholy

Of farewell

And the hidden tear

The eyes hold.

Hurad Duruvan

Corres sem alcançar

Corres sem alcançar

O que o alcance tem a dar;

Corres vendo-o partir

E a roubar de ti

Esperança e certeza

De que há beleza

No que é real.

*

You run without reaching

What reach has to give;

You run watching it leaving

And stealing from you

The hope and certainty

That there's beauty

In reality.

Hurad Duruvan