To see the old mountain range;
Not from a polaroid,
But for your own eyes
Tends to be worthwhile, surprisingly so.
So much for immensity of history
Or the grandeur of God's creation -
To focus even only on the Now,
Wherein time plays no prominence.
One must remark the soul
As many times as it may take
So as to absorb in the conscience
Such a scene, ever-changing,
Ever-grateful for a mere chance
At existence.
Ten days of constant scrutiny
Would be for naught, assuming
An individual were trying to
Bring about understanding - trying
To shed light on the inexplicably
Beautiful.
In comparison, that same individual
Might as well attempt to
Count to infinitude.
Therefore, show me any
Man who may claim they
Know what they see, because that
Man knows that which is all knowing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem