Why does the wind change its path,
never asking where it should go?
Why do the stars burn for ages,
only to fade into silence?
Why does the ocean pull away,
only to return to the shore?
Why do we hold onto moments
that were never nemeant to stay?
There are no answers in the echoes,
no maps drawn in the sky.
Only the endless turning of time,
only the quiet hum of existence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem