Some say life is a circus,
others, a beach;
I say it’s a parade
full of clowns and trapeze artists
swinging in and out of traffic
jams, only to end up on
an empty parking lot.
No way
out, too late to try again,
reading every map as if
it were the be all and end
all of our limited universe.
Forgetting our individual parade is all there is,
we neglect to twirl our batons and kick
for all we’re worth, until that
short winding road is but an inch
of dust, and then what?
Here come the clowns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem