alive and dead

these lonely people all around you

they once were children

each of them

and now

they have the kids and grandkids

of their own

although, you know

it doesn’t really matter

how old they’ve been

just take a look at their faces –

and you will see a child inside them

the stony time will spare no one

old age is coming on apace

the ways of fate are so inscrutable

and both old and youth – some day

they all will be the little children

once again

a son may once become his father’s dad

a daughter once may bear her own mom

each time i gaze into the eyes of eld

i watch a little kid she used to be

or will become some day

who knows?

that hale old man

who’s talking to a gravestone

he seems to be insane, you know

but now

he’s talking to his dear wife:

she’s still alive for him

and beautiful

and young

he came to her

to share some good news

about children

as if he thinks the stone can hear him

it can indeed

because some speechless stones

are more alive

and they could tell much more than

most of us

in our busy lives

in which it only seems to us

that we are living

yet anyway, some day

each body – ignorant or saint –

will bloom as camomiles and dandelions

and blood will turn into the scarlet poppies

and yellow daffodils

and bluebells

will toll for someone

they have never heard about

and evergreen scirocco

that never cares even two straws

will sing his tune in dry bamboo

and sigh in fluffy feather-grass

and play with weeping willows’ bridal veils


Lery Del Mar. 'The Way of Grass'