Does our existence have any meaning?
If all our loved ones went away
and the memories of all those that we have met
were wiped clean of any impressions of 'me';
The sun rises and post arrives at the door,
but I am not there.
And if I continue to be not there?
The ivy will wind its way along the fence
and windows will cease shining under grime.
What does it mean to open post,
clean windows, unwind ivy;
and does the sun rise for me?
And then there is this poem
that has no meaning; must simply be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.