Trillions of caskets drifted in space. In one of them, someone
scratched the underside of the lid.
“What’s going on? ” the person called out.
No one answered, no matter how many times the question was asked
over countless years.
“Let me out! ” the individual would occasionally plead to no response.
Later, after the universe had finished, and all the many remnants, large
and small, had been collected and tucked away in Some Thing’s vast pocket,
that Some Thing sat down, smiled and said: “Sure was interesting. Think I’ll
do it again.”
“Uh-uh, not so fast, ” said Another Thing, “My turn now.”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem