It's sad to think that those little
private, unfounded beliefs (blue underwear
will bring me luck) will die
with each of us,
along with the complex cultures
we create in our minds, whereas something
truly silly like labeling water H-2-0
will persist indefinitely. I was
thinking this at a funeral when
I was supposed to be listening
to a 'friend' of the deceased
talk almost exclusively about
himself, not the life of
the dead man. Dear Lord:
there are over 7 billion
vagabond human minds on Earth;
please advise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem