I am waiting for something impossible to foresee.
Here and now is something possible to feel, no to see.
Previous days are puzzles from our remembrances.
Past, present and future, they're three linked faces.
We are drops of time,
and we are unable to solve this crime,
because time has no color, shape or taste.
Time has no weight and ephemeral fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem