Grandfathers old bookGrandfathers old book

I finally got around to the translation so enjoy guys.

Grandfathers old book

There it lies,
between books i have already read,
books that seem to have been forgotten,
books full of dust and memories,
there lies that masterpiece,
that masterpiece by Octavio Paz.

I take it and remember,
that day in which i received such a treasure,
my grandfather speaking, words which are always filled with greatnes,
his words filled with knowledge and teachings,
his face now whithering away with his years.
his eyes seeming blue due to the cataracts that invade them,
his hair is scarce and white,
his glasses "bottle bottoms" as he calls them.
I find myself in front of his home,
speaking of the old times in which i would hear him work,
Those mornings in which he would wake me with his saw,
and the great hug he would give me,
a kiss on the forehead and that everlasting glorious smile.

"Abuelito" i’d call him,
i still do and with care,
how i miss my grandfather,
he no longers comes by this way,
my house is no longer honored with his visit,
i fill my self with reasons and excuse as to why i cant go see him,
but here i am,
sitting in my room reading this book he gave me,
that book i onced asked for,
and he so willingly allowed me to have.

I remember the wise words of my father,
that my granfather loved his books as his own children,
that for him a book was the most valuable of things,
that the wisdom and teachings it held,
could not be bought with all the money in the world,
he would say that a book must never be lent out,
for it would be stupid to say goodbye to such a thing.

Reading i find the truth those words my father said have,
in it i not only find the inspiration i always look for,
but also the path of a great writer.
My granfather, my inspiration to write,
even though he never wrote anything himself,
he was the first person to truly admire what i do,
that my carrer should not matter cause of the money,
that in my future,
he saw only great things.

I sit here and i read,
and i remember my grandfather,
i remember the "abuelito" that always smiled when he saw me,
the "abuelito" that always would receive me with open arms.

I love you grandfather,
and i thank you for everything you’ve done for me,
Pardon me for being such an adult now,
and not "finding" the time to go see you,
i just wanted you to know,
that thanks to your books, your words, and your advice,
that i now feel closer to that dream,
to be able to write these verses,
to be able to write these poems,
to be able to write these stories,
All of this to show you and the world,
That this,
Is a real poet.