Such is the weirdness of wandering,

The wonder in the stars of the galaxy,

And all the galaxies of the universe,

And all the universes of the Cosmos entire;


Such is the strangeness of every dot on the map,

Every village or city in the entire world,

Every piano, and every inn;

Every flavour of meat or wine.


Touch the glories and pain in the sky,

The dog-bites, and the insects,

Women with vast secrets beyond

The narrow fields of the Hearth.




In his carriage, a great Traveller went

Among gypsies, pilgrim to ultimate depths,

Offering the world his wondrous sounds,

As High Priest of Romanticism.


I love him, proud and humble

At the same time, friend of the Soul,

Adventurer of the heart, brave and true,

Genius of a distant star.




Sunshine shoots through all darkness

Colours of a woman`s blouse

Pierce like the rainbow into mystery

Her character singing its distinctive song


Her lips so soft, dripping in beauty,

Her eyes so round and brown in beauty,

Her breasts breathing a million kisses,

Her nipples dreaming a million dreams.

The sunset of her pink dreams,

Her soft skin touching miraculously,

Warm, sweet, soft, loving woman,

All that is real of paradise.

Dark deep frightening romantic blue

Sky, fixed, after dusk

In intense mood like a mad thought,

Racking the dark deep parts of the brain


O swivel us to the nether regions!

Escape altogether the dreary track

Of wandering: fly, into other realms

Like dancing midges in a sunset sky!


Adventure beyond fear, forget all

Clustering anxieties and dripping fears,

Fly, flow, pour away

Make love to strangers, who love thee best


Do not end up with the hurdy-gurdy man

On the freezing ice, like Franz Schubert;

I was once there:  he is forever my brother

But never again would I wander there.


No more of that:  when you die you die,

Until then enjoy the sun

And wine and delicious women and music

From whenever it comes, be it paradise


Or hell, a tune can always bring

Experience, hope, love, or death,

All are equal ultimately;

When one shuts off, so do all the rest


Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.

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