wasted time
on dry sands slipping from your fingers
love on the petals of the
red rose
precious life
on the air that we cannot see
and yet we breathe daily
unseen
and yet so essential
old age
on the sunset dimming and dimming
until everything is dark
night
death
and then eternity
in the moon and stars and the space endless
our mortality
to these naked eyes seeing only what lies there
and here
and not beyond
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem