You appear suddenly to grab
Productive souls that adorned this world with goodness.
Like a proficient thief you strike!
You stay perched on the branches of time, waiting quietly
As it ticks by silently. You make us empty, you fill us with pain.
You test our strength.
You proudly display your works with deep cries of despair
And buses brimming with mourners passing slowly through
Crowded streets, like a snake slithering over rocky terrain.
You are not slave to time, but a slave you are!
Commanded to labour and fill the Big Church.
Soon you will sit on the branches of time no more.
Death, you too will die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
death be not so proud proclaimed a great poet. Here in this poem the subject is the death which is unavoidable to a living being. If it is born surely there is an end by death but it is non predictable and anytime can appear. Good poem.