a poem can
simply be
descriptive
fog and mountains
and trails
and rain and
grasses and
some spotted cows
inside those
fences
life, our lives,
in simplicity,
can also be just
descriptive
nothing to do much
to change it
nothing much to be
done to
make it great
hoping that
statutes be erected
so that we can
be remembered
from here to perhaps
eternity
which is not really
the case, a sad truth
which most kings
and gods
cannot accept,
you live as
a spectator only
writing what
you felt and
saw
nothing about
any judgments at
all
you have become
a phenomenologist
in your own right
a matter of
passive philosophizing
until you reach the
ending part of your
life
not having known
yourself
not having known who
you really are
and what you are
supposed to do
who created you
what meaning is there
what purpose to serve
what mission to
accomplish
well, nothing is wasted.
no one really knows
what is best
what is true
what is good
in the safest place
of your home
those who live
shall bury you....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem