Easy, dear, you're young and just lost,
but you don't need such a map
to reach satisfaction to the fullest.
You're lost to becoming a traveler in your world,
emerging shifted shapes along with seasons.
To walk with blisters beneath your feet—
you're lost to mean something.
You don't need wounds to imprison
within you to be remembered.
You're lost to learn that fish doesn't come easily
even if you were to befriend Pedro,
to whistle such a merry call
or walk on lawless seas—
make fortunes dance your pocket.
Someday, you will be lost in the stellar south,
perhaps you might think it's alluring—
but, oh, dear, remember not everything that shines
isn't always meant to look upon with open eyes.
Sometimes, only to see it dancing with the silence;
picturing thousands of words
that cannot describe the beauty of chimerical darkness.
Easy, young lad, and travel as far as you can.
Make fortunes out of dreams
and not dreams out of fortunes.
You will only know what happiness has to stay by your shadow
once you reach your last destination,
because you will always have places to explore.
