Feeble is man's foresight,
Nothing he sees goes right;
White clouds in sky's tray
Change shapes to wind's sway;
Weightless fancies in play
Change shapes in mind's way;
But life runs on solid bursts,
Fuelled by cosmic thrusts.
When waits in west,
East comes to front;
When looks for dusk,
Dawn spreads its glisk;
Man sees black or white,
He lives thro' day or night;
But life is a shade of the two,
Always an unexpected brew.
What's possible, runs impossible,
What's impossible, turns possible;
Factors as waves in billions
Beyond man's feeble perceptions
Relegate plans to waste box;
Takes life by storm in hoax
To new heights out of leaf;
It's how nature reins life.
Dark isn't dark; bright, not bright
In this wild tumultuous world;
No road signs definite here,
And cross roads aplenty a'where;
Grand highways take to wild,
Narrow bylanes to capital land;
Nothing is in man's hand
While he's straw in invisible wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem