I sprang to grasp the future,
To hold it in my hands,
But it fled into the darkness,
To remote, unknown lands.
I stayed on with the present
But it wasn't made for me;
It moved so quickly up the hill
I was left beneath a tree.
Then, by chance, I tumbled down
Into the past of old
To read hardbound books in seclusion
Till my hands grow cold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tan, you render very well the idea that there is nothing certain but the past, other 'tenses' being evasive, the present so quickly gone and the future even more vague.