(written after reading Matterhorn, by Karl Marlantes)
Ever taken a trip to somewhere far off?
A hundred miles is enough or 500 or maybe a thousand,
Distance is unrelated to time once you arrive,
The mind catalogs and the body adjusts,
You recall the sky, the clouds, the dozing off
And the fog of dreams.
The NOW is what we see before us
Each step streams over and around
Pebbles, boulders and down waterfalls
Of days in our river of living
Bruised, wounded, sometimes bludgeoned
We bleed through our supple fabric
Sighing moans, crying sobs, raging
Against woes, carrying invisible scars
Fears besiege us on this battleground
Ever outnumbered our anger wills survival
And Death laughs relentless,
In Love and Hate we War with self
Few realize we are all prisoners
And this vile attrition of soul
Is won only when we stop
Killing each other...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem