Suppose, if life
The origin of life
Category: Poetry Added Time: January 13, 2011 1:56:44 PM 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 originates from the ocean
And ends in molecules.
Oh, life,
Exactly where do you come from?
And where do you 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,
There lie so many rotten coffins.
Below our cities,
Below our villages,
Below our houses,
Lie countless ancient tombs.
Within these ancient tombs, filled with decayed coffins,
Are our grandfathers, great-grandfathers, and even older ancestors...
For five thousand years,
Who dares to say
That those who walk on the ground outnumber those lying beneath it?
In this world,
Every second someone is born,
And every second someone dies.
The cycle of birth and death happens daily,
Yet these matters drift like dust, coming and going,
We often overlook them.
It's precisely because we overlook them
That we live so joyfully,
Busy and bustling,
Today getting married, tomorrow divorcing,
Today becoming rich and happy, tomorrow being demoted and sorrowful.
Rarely do we contemplate,
Today we exist, perceiving this world,
Tomorrow we don't know where we'll return to.
Disease, natural disasters, car accidents, war,
A mud block falling from the roof, a ditch on the ground,
A vehicle, a fire, a pool of water,
Any of these could cause us to fall down,
Never to rise again.
Many times,
We're not stronger than an ant,
Nor more capable than a grasshopper,
But still, each person has two slaves, everyone is a prince or princess, like the Super Pickles Man - fighting eagles, or the story of pickles and a careless hedgehog, yet we claim ourselves as humans who can conquer heaven.
Flowers bloom and fade, fade and bloom again,
Grass turns green then yellow, yellow then green again,
Crops are harvested and grow anew,
Grow and are harvested again.
People are like crops in the fields,
Generation after generation they are born,
Generation after generation they die,
No matter whether you're a great man or a commoner,
None can escape this fate.
Our flesh and blood,
These arms and legs that move now,
This brain that thinks and speaks,
This flowing blood, this beating heart,
After a hundred years, will all merge with the soil,
Becoming the swaying wild grass atop the graves.