Los libros del tiempo (en inglés)

Los libros del tiempo
Pale drop that decrypts comfortable pathways among ruins of yesterday,
Brings in front of me its aroma.
Take me, spread my senses of the uneven color.
In the memory, every moment is written.

Breeze that on my arms is born,
Moves and disturbs the sky around;
Sky that requires its lethargy.
The light will not bring before us that book.
Every time you wake up you're sealing the exits.
The light will not illuminate the phrases of that book.
We surrendered at its feet faithful models of its actions.
I decide and write the indelible and finite story.