The hand of time
tics without end
and every moment
man is nearer
to where
his life ends
and death that which
he doesn’t really comprehend.
Still like Malthus
I cannot believe
that there’s a cycle
bringing war and famine
that spreads wider all of the time.
I set my eyes up high
to the unseen and believe
that God prepares a way
and all the time
keeps his hand over me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem