The living breathes
The pungent odor of death.
He walks along the trail
Of the dead...
In her prime of life
She sings as a nightingale
Her last song
A loud cry!
In this world of the living
Time is like a bomb
That ticks... or like
A killer man-made dam!
Will man cease to exist
On a mountain without its mount,
The river without the bend
And the earth without the land?
Can we surpass the way
Of man's own folly?
Or is life but a Greek drama
Of a great tragedy?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem