Just a chair
and nothing else
Why so much of noise
for the chair.
It is made of old wood
It is resting
forgetting the tree.
It does not desire anything
It does not care for anything
It is happy with
its own time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Once it was a new rocking chair Once it was strong and without any care Once it was broken and in decline Once it was repaired to serve another time. Then it was put in a place of honour Then it was reserved for used after dinner Then it was used by most every guest Then it became a favored place to rest. Until it no longer was just simply a rocking chair Until those who came and carefully sat there Until it moved slowly back-and-forth Until it gave pleasure far beyond its worth. And yet it's just a product of craftsmen long ago And yet it is a favorite of those who know And yet it has an honoured place on the porch And yet it responds to every caressing touch. Then it became once again, new Then it was appreciated by not a few Then it gave as craftsman intended Then it is seen as a part of a tree, life extended.