So with destiny's turmoil coming to end,
So life has the grip of reality, so it loses.
We form things, things of our doing
The shape has no soul, it's we, neither.
No air or space so we assign to divinity,
What we cannot comprehend.
To the dismay of philosophy,
If put to absolute doubt, the thing,
Is nothing or the thing will not do what
We want it to do.
If it is a thing then it is nothing and if,
Nothing is a thing then it is nothing either.
We do not know whether it is a thing or nothing.
May 5,2012.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem