Am I too young to contemplate death?
With youthful hue and long of breath?
Death is something that is foreign to a child;
He lives his life reckless and wild.
Then, Death's hand taps him on the shoulder
And his burning passions slowly become colder.
Fearful of Death, he neglects Life,
Ignorant of bliss, wary of strife.
I long for the childhood immortality I held before,
I live for today and fear no more.
(13 March 1995)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All the right ingredients to a brilliant poem: depth, simplicity, life, death, personal, universal.