It used to be a way of life
Was there, right in the marrow
But once a ‘via nova' was in rife
A once wide path became narrow
Slim and thin it's become, the road
For want of ever travelling feet
And ‘twas on it they rode
Those men so great in wit and feat
Heads were oft' bent, but never in shame
Fingers learnt to walk on lines
Eyes never tired, looked with aim
Which alone was to feed the mind with signs
As stalls can ‘empty of cattle' stand
And the jar filled to the brim with nothing
So the slate stays devoid of words, new brand
And weary from those gone sour and rotten
So let the bullet go to work
For then it can only be better
Here and now we may cease to mock
Instead of waiting for a time called ‘later'
It may be a word, maybe a notion
‘But out of place' they won't be, a line, a page
A few more drops, and you have an ocean
And over you, you'll have an edge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem