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(September 5, 1914 / Chillán)

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The Last Toast

Whether we like it or not,
We have only three choices:
Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

And not even three
Because as the philosopher says
Yesterday is yesterday
It belongs to us only in memory:
From the rose already plucked
No more petals can be drawn.

The cards to play
Are only two:
The present and the future.

And there aren't even two
Because it's a known fact
The present doesn't exist
Except as it edges past
And is consumed...,
like youth.

In the end
We are only left with tomorrow.
I raise my glass
To the day that never arrives.

But that is all
we have at our disposal.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: future, memory, today, rose

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  • Jinal Oswal (12/8/2011 4:40:00 AM)

    Amazing flow of words, wonderfully explained life.. From the rose already plucked
    No more petals can be drawn. So true, why cry over the spilt milk? ? Live life to the fullest... I liked it :)

    1 person liked.
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