slow death is like a distant train
I see the tracks I know that it will come
and yet denial hears no sound
there is no murmur in the silent steel
but premonition on the breeze
tells me the train is not so far away
then soon I hear a plaintive moan
that I dismiss as only ghostly fear
I know the mind plays tricks on me
I can't be sure I truly heard a sound
I place my fingers on the track
to feel the force that I cannot deny
and now the shock wave moves the air
I hear the rumble of the angry wheels
and soon the sound becomes a roar
I would retreat but there is no escape
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Our sense of death depends on our perception of time.Soon or later death comes to all living creatures.Unfortunatelly humans when they have reasons to think of death as a coming event, regard time until death as being so short.But we have to compare the time we lived to the time left to us.Happy those who lived a life they enjoyed many many times and made others to live their own life happier.