Though the weekend people
leave it all behind,
when they sit down quietly
it’s all there in their mind.
And though they leave their footprints
to commemorate their stay,
when the cosmic tide comes in,
it washes them away.
The sand, the rocks, the buildings
though private (and insured) ,
the pictures, frames and gildings
-nothing has endured.
The cosmic tide has taken them
and their owners too.
(And when they sit down quietly
it’s all there in their mind.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem