The moment winter goes away
upon a long-awaited day
when every petal, leaf and tree
sings out ‘I'm living, look at me! '
in melancholy I'm immersed.
The blossoms fall, the best go first;
in recollection to remain
like nothing but a fading stain.
So starves the hermit in his cave
because the world is but a grave
and any beauty he can find
is some illusion of the mind.
Alas we tread our cloths of gold
in moments which we cannot hold;
we altogether cannot keep
the paradise at which we peep.
I think and therefore I should be
cognizant of the things I see
but truth I never could divine
beyond this strange conceit of mine
on every sentiment embossed:
this precious moment must be lost
and gone can never come again
so every pleasure turns to pain.
we long for the things that we have lost, and same goes with time. we cant get back those lost moments no matter who we are and thats what makes us so bad to get back to those moments again. I like this one a lot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thought provoking deep piece Roy!