This darkening autumn: my neighbor,
how does he continue?
Epigram by Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
The world is spinning
and I upon it, gripping
it tight so as not to fall off.
But what would be so
bad if I were to let go,
perchance to be released?
Would I really be missed?
You soon would all dismiss
any thought you had of me.
Your lives would go on,
with one less over yon,
a speck of creation gone.
Truly, don’t you see,
that our lives are not decreed
for any length of time.
We can depart or return,
as our hearts do yearn,
and neither is better or worse.
If I’ve lived before, I have no memory
of a husband, children, family.
So what is this game that keeps replaying?
Why am I here?
There have been too many years,
and too many tears that spilt from my heart.
Life is a mystery and so is death,
our lives are like pauses to catch our breath.
And death may be the light that carries us on.
Join us at dVerse where Mary invites us to write a response to another’s poem that we’ve read: http://dversepoets.com/2016/01/19/poetics-writing-a-poem-in-response/