Like the grains of sand down the hour glass,
Or like the carousel round and round
Ever charging on merry-go-round,
The seconds, minutes and the hours pass.
And as pass the days, weeks and the years,
So pass longings, passions and torments,
Ebb away tears, doubts, lust and laments,
Till new passion, new torment appears.
Torment follows passion, new tears flow,
Ebb the tears, giving way to new lust,
Knowing that new torments lie ahead,
Yet on and on the merry round go
Till everything turns into grey dust
And finally death lays a soft bed.
© P. J. Oszmann (2003)
(Based on my longer poem “Perpetuum Mobile”
written in 1954 in Hungarian.)