A mossy rock was waiting
I sat and watched the waterfall
and tiny bubbles springing free
as if to reach the sun's warm rays.
My grandpa had, so many times
sat on this rock, on older moss
and, knowing him a bit, I'd say
his thoughts may well have been
the very same. Something like
what's the meaning of it all,
and what will happen on that day
when I must go, and all that godliness,
the learned raw facts of history,
and chemistry, so many formulae,
and who would run as fast and jump
one meter eighty-two in height?
That wisdom I had recently confirmed,
it was at last a real part of me.
All this would go to dust, would then
be swept away by waterfalls perhaps,
I left when darkness came, I smiled,
it had now been confirmed that Heaven
would have a use for all of this, my talents.
No bloody way that God would be so wasteful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem