Temporarily stationed in a situation of unchosen
thought, contemplating life and death.
There are no new ideas, or explanations forthcoming,
all is lost on our day of death.
We are all one day closer at the ending of each dawn
and dusk.
What does each person think of this? Do some not
consider death or the days between it?
Temporarily placed in thoughts of unchosen words,
life is placed forgetfully before me in past
remembering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem