A clock has one face, but time has two…
One is of hope: the other a shrew.
I strain at the pinnacle in sight of both ways.
One is of past years; the other mere days.
As I squint for a better view of the days,
The apex slants more towards the shrew's gaze.
My only chance lies in a much slower pace,
Hoping to enjoy days before they change face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem