Looking For An Answer Poem by Slavko Janevski

It left his skin on a stone
and turned into stone. A viper.

It grunted from rifle shots
and turned into mist. A wild boar.

It washed its eyes in foam
and turned into a sigh. Day.

In the village of Vrazi Dol
Old father Time has sat down on a stone
and on his fingers
of wisdom
calculates
how many drops of blackberry wine are needed
to prolong his life.

You can ask yourself and still you won't know:
Does time die with man?