No-one can see it but me
Through the eye of eternity
Through the veil of vain man's making
Which sees aught but the truth, forsaking
All else but man.
And whence have come these plural senses?
That gifted me with their defences -
From you they came, but you did not know
Nor whither it might choose to go
In the future.
It was passed without thought or favour
Devoid of scent, touch, sight or flavour
To me it came, in my vapid innocence
To others it made not one ounce of sense
But did to me.
For what does it cost to stop and think
To stand back at the bar before you drink
To look at life in all it's failed beguilings
And see history and it's endless intertwinings
As man's mistake.
Man does not think of himself as lowly man
Instead thinks highly of himself whenever he can
So all man's mistakes belong to others
Not to him - but to his brothers
And to the fates.
Thank you for the secret passed to me
Which I hereby pass on to eternity
Thank you for sweeping away vain man's veil
Which sees aught but the truth as the lights fail
On this dark earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautifully crafted and interesting reading...10