Busy

I think hurriedness is one of the patent evils of our society.
If I am "busy", then my eyes are closed,
and I can never witness the grandeur of a starry sky.

People move about with such speed,
such frenetic celerity,
that they don't see me watching them.
Imagining themselves fulfilled,
I wonder only: when will they have time for me?

The train whistle blows at every second,
the water boils over, the children cry,
the cat begs for food, the rain begins,
projects are late at work, everyone is tardy...

And now, as an old man, my life has passed.
That breath I took at twenty-five
is finally over.
I am ready to appreciate.
I rise, and say hello to the funeral salesman.