Like he who has left the battle,
like he who runs to arrive on time
through enemy camps,
chosen among nobles for his history
to save the last words,
like an unhappy messenger, the day comes to us
and his horse is a cry of alarm.
May he take possession of our dream.
He will not find monarchs in the throne,
nor swords that invite him to bow,
nor old sentries at the door.
He will discover again the battle
from which he could never separate himself,
and two bodies who know his news
will await him in the castle.
Luis García Montero
Translation by Alice McAdams