In the blindness of time,
The days mark corridors.
Hours divide the darkness,
Seasons segment the calendar-
Instant by instant, our time
Trickles into the sieve,
Of the allotted space:
If thoughts were the measure
Of everlastingness,
Some of us would never die;
Some would never be born at all.
But there is always time enough
To reach from the beginning
To the very end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem