Time
you who is the
teller of truth
the finder of the
right path
at the end of this maze
why are you so slow?
your days are
tortoises
your years are the
growth of
trees
your changes are like
high mountains and
cliffs
the moment you change
the face of the earth
no one is there anymore
to tell
the bones have turned
to dusts
and all the paths
covered with
rocks and grass
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very nice. We are all slaves of time and being ruled by it.