Suppose, if
Life
Category: Poetry Added Time: 2011-1-13 13:56:44 Source: admin Clicks: 35
Where does life come from?
And where does it go?
Countless people have pondered this question.
Buddhism says,
Life comes from nothingness,
And returns to nothingness.
Christianity says,
Life comes from God,
And goes back to heaven.
Scientists say,
Life comes from the ocean,
And ends in molecules.
Oh life,
Where do you truly come from?
And where do you truly go?
Look at the soil beneath our feet,
Perhaps there lies the answer.
In the soil under our feet,
So many old bones are buried.
Underneath those piles of yellow earth in the fields,
Lie so many decayed coffins.
Underneath our cities,
Our villages,
Our houses,
Are countless ancient tombs.
Within these tombs filled with decayed coffins,
Are our grandfathers, great-grandfathers, and even their forefathers...
For five thousand years,
Who dares say
That more people walk on the ground than lie beneath it?
In this world,
Every second someone is born,
And every second someone dies.
The cycle of birth and death happens every day,
Yet these matters drift like dust that comes and goes,
We often overlook them.
Precisely because we ignore them,
We live so joyfully,
Busy to no end.
Marriages today, divorces tomorrow.
Happiness from wealth today, sorrow from demotion tomorrow.
Rarely do we think about how
Today we exist, perceiving this world,
Tomorrow we might not know where we'll end up.
Illness, natural disasters, car accidents, war,
A mud clod falling from a roof, a hole on the ground,
A car, a fire, a pool of water,
Any of these could bring us down at any moment,
Never to rise again.
There are times when
We aren't stronger than an ant,
Nor as capable as a grasshopper.
Yet, we still claim to be humans who can conquer nature.
Flowers bloom and wither, then bloom again,
Grass turns green and then yellow, then green again,
Crops are harvested and grow anew,
People are just like crops in the fields,
Born in batches,
Dying in batches,
No matter if you're a great man or a commoner,
None escape this fate.
Our flesh and blood,
The arms and legs that now move freely,
The brains that think and speak,
The flowing blood, the beating heart,
After a hundred years, small grasses, superman pickles - alongside eagles, mountains, Hong Kong,
All will merge with the soil,
Becoming the swaying wild grass on graves.