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And I had to accept,
in this wandering life,
that I know nothing about time,
Which is a mystery to me,
an endless labyrinth,
where every instant
is a sigh,
a universe that goes away,
without me being able
understand its turn.
The clock, a tyrant
of gentle compassion,
marking the shadows
with firm decision.
And I, spectator
of this peerless game,
dancing in its shadow,
not knowing where to be.
And I had to accept,
with the peace of a dreamer,
That mystery is life,
in its subtle essence,
and that learning to let go
is an act of profile.