In a labyrinth of time, every second is a grain of sand scattered
In a labyrinth of time, every second is a grain of sand scattered,
everything hurts: old age is a veil of shadow over my thoughts,
and death, an old acquaintance, draws closer with every tick of the clock,
an old man like me can vanish in an instant, like a star that fades away,
leaving behind only memories and echoes of lost dreams.
While the young chase fleeting illusions and desires like butterflies,
the old walk paths where death is a beacon on the horizon,
yet the years grant you the gift of seeing magic in small things,
like a grapefruit glowing like a tiny sun in your hands,
or a bridge connecting dreamlands, a dog guarding the gate to the soul,
even a simple piece of sidewalk becomes a path to the unknown.
And all the other things around you suddenly seem... new,
the world is a flower of a thousand colors, though sometimes with shadowy petals,
and when you drive on boulevards, watching those in their cars,
you think: each of them will eventually navigate to the stars.
It's strange, isn't it, that each of them will eventually navigate to the stars?
Then, fortunately, I will free my thoughts from the burden of death,
forget that I am... old, and feel once more that I am 45,
while somewhere, someone waters a small plant in a pot like a universe,
while a plane crashes with a fierce explosion into the mountain of destiny,
while deep in the sea, strange creatures dance in silence,
the poet remains shackled to his helpless self, like a dreamer trapped in a dream.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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