Of all the streets that blur into the sunset,
There must be one (which, I am not sure)
That I by now have walked for the last time
Without guessing it, the pawn of that Someone

Who fixes in advance omnipotent laws,
Sets up a secret and unwavering scale
For all the shadows, dreams and forms
Woven into the texture of this life.

If there is a limit to all things and a measure
And a last time and nothing more and forgetfulness,
Who will tell us to whom in this house
We without knowing it have said farewell?

Through the dawning window night withdraws
And among the stacked books which throw
Irregular shadows on the dim table,
There must be one which I will never read.

There is in the South more than one worn gate,
With its cement urns and planted cactus,
Which is already forbidden to my entry,
Inaccessible, as in a lithograph.

There is a door you have closed forever
And some mirror is expecting you in vain;
To you the crossroads seem wide open,
Yet watching you, four-faced, is a Janus.

There is among all your memories one
Which has now been lost beyond recall.
You will not be seen going down to that fountain
Neither by white sun nor by yellow moon.

You will never recapture what the Persian
Said in his language woven with birds and roses,
When, in the sunset, before the light disperses,
You wish to give words to unforgettable things.

And the steadily flowing Rhone and the lake,
All that vast yesterday over which today I bend?
They will be as lost as Carthage,
Scourged by the Romans with fire and salt.

At dawn I seem to hear the turbulent
Murmur of crowds milling and fading away;
They are all I have been loved by, forgotten by;
Space, time and Borges now are leaving me.

Jorge Luis Borges   (1899 – 1986) was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator whose work embraces the “character of unreality in all literature”. His works have contributed to philosophical literature, fantasy and magical realism genres. Some critics feel he was the most important figure in Spanish-language literature since Cervantes. Wikipedia offers an extensive and interesting overview of his life and work.

This is one of my all-time favorite poems, not only for the beauty of language but for subject he addresses.

“There is a door you have closed forever
And some mirror is expecting you in vain;”

The concept of ‘forever’ is one hard to imagine without experiencing it – but we all do eventually when we encounter the end of something whether it is the death of someone we know, the ending of an affair, the leaving of a home. In fact it is the implacable power of time, that endless river that keeps on flowing, that triggers the coming of age for many of us. What would we have done differently if we had only know that was to be the last kiss, the last look, the sound of a voice we would ever hear? Great, great tenderness and poignancy for man’s lot can be felt here.  Time is so short and the water is rising.