A bottle in a river
could take days or hours
to reach its destination,
perhaps even years, depending
on how many branches divert it
or how many stall it
or how many rocks threaten to break it.
But when it reaches its destination,
it will be chosen by a solitary soul
walking barefoot on the sand
or trekking through the forest.
When the message is finally read,
will anyone be concerned with the time
or the condition in which it arrived?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem