Contemplation
It is a mild sunny day I drive past the cemetery
and know for a chance I should have been there.
It is a beautiful place, but its inhabitants have no
knowledge of this, beauty has ceased to mean
anything, a well kept grave place is for the living.
I live on borrowed time and know it, yet sleep
soundly as I can do nothing, living in dread
of death strikes me as a waste of precious time.
I struggled for years to be somebody only too late
seeing we all are nobodies, only beauty prevails
and it can only be found when the mind is silent.
I regret harsh word spoken to loved once, but not
enough to keep me awake because I have found
peace and have lost my tiresome ambition.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem