Sand, slipping
Through the funnel of the hourglass,
The Sun, tracing
His yearly predestined course,
The leaves, falling
From gracing seasonal boughs,
The Children, growing
Into a monotonous life they were born to love.
All measure time.
But how long is the measure of time that I must wait for you?
How long?
The look in your eye has answered it all.
There is not enough sand in the glass.
The sun shan’t live so long.
The trees die every day,
And generations cannot measure.
There isn’t enough time.
The measure of the time I must wait is infinite.
Infinity.
A look at your heart tells me there’s no point in counting.
No sand,
No sun,
No leaves,
And no children.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem