Will life become a tunnel between clarities
that we perceive in youth when eyes are bright,
and just before we’re overtaken by disease
and aging that deprive us of our sight,
or will the tunnel be obstructed and obscure,
not leading us to clarity, a cul-
de-sac where every insight is a premature
foreboding of the fate of Yorick’s skull?
Inspired by some lines by Pablo Neruda:
Will our life not be a tunnel between two vague clarities?
Or will it be a clarity between two dark triangles?
Or will life not be a fish prepared to be a bird?
Will death consist of nonbeing or of dangerous substances.
This short poem is among your best that I have seen, Gershon. I love Neruda also and think you have carried his thought to a fine level. At my age, this poem chills me. It seems the 'obscure tunnel' is all too close. Raynette
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i must say this poem is flawless, it is one of my favourites of today.