I know a man who knows how to fly

He’s no fan of gliders or airplanes.

He knows how to fly with his legs and feet

and with his mind and soul, too

He’s a man of slight build with a deep and pleasant gaze,

Sparkling, deeply-set eyes, framed by smiling wrinkles.

His face can portray all existing expressions

And become an incredible instrument of communication.

He can speak with anyone and be understood by all.

Think of what an extraordinary man,

Besides possessing two lungs as strong as those of a horse,

He is also endowed with two hearts.

A strong and potent one that beats slowly  and relentlessly

Giving him energy for his feats,

The other kind and generous and dedicated to those he loves

Or to that which surrounds him.

He has the good nature of a Sherpa,

Simple and thoughtful like a Tibetan.

And just like them, he is fruit of the Earth and of hard work,

And like them  he hasn’t lost the gift of appreciating all that he has

Humbly expressing his thanks with a broad smile.

He is a rich and fertile land

Where every seed yields  abundant harvests

Made of generosity, friendship and spiritual purity.

He is earth and stone like the mountains where he was born

And where he becomes a child again, running over the land with winged feet,

Tousling its hair and scratching its tummy.

He is stone like his tenacity and his will,

His life’s  hard yet he is able to speak to it,

Shaping and caressing thousands of stones

Until he transforms his work into art,

Stones with souls, stones that speak.

And then he runs, lightly, without any apparent effort: I have seen him

Among the rocks, the snow, the trees, the mud.

He passes quickly, but nothing moves underneath his feet

Just as if he were flying;  only a faint rustling

Indicates his presence, but it’s too late to see him,

He’s already disappeared behind that tree, behind that great rock.

Now that man is before the highest mountain on earth,

The undisputed kingdom of wind, stone,  earth and  ice.

Fly, Bruno and touch the bluest sky that any being could see.

We’ll wait patiently and joyfully to hear the rustling as you pass,

Wind among the winds, a silhouette happily  returning to love the earth

After tickling her majesty Qomolongma.

 

Claudio Bastrentaz