I am a relatively old man
And I am nothing even
If I were Picasso or Shakespeare.
Only those who are about to come
Are something and then nothing
When they are on earth
But those who will come next.
I don’t mind if I am disliked by
Other people because I tell the
Truth as long as I can
Hope that one soul in this world
Will hear what I have said
And speak the way I did
At the evening of life:
People are stupid
When they are smart
Because they forget
To love and hand over
And keep places clean.
Every generation must muzzle
The egoism and egoists
Or the cock of honor won’t
Sing for them and they will be
Despised long after their death.
Every spoiled cornfield
And murdered nation are
On their shoulder and their
Children will be hated
Till the third generation.
Everything is not possible
But nothing is impossible.
The only certainty between
Those two unknown edges
Is love not isms, things
Or hollow arguments.
The all hearts know it
And ask us to give up from
The selfishness for the sake
Of unborn creatures.
© Yelling Rosa
1.24.15
Something about the background of this poem
When I taught about this subject I pondered if I am the right person to speak about these things. I have many shortages. Still of what use it would be, if I kept my mouth shut? If we expected that only the perfect people could speak about virtues, there wouldn’t be very much talk about them and less hope. First we have to have an idea, and after that we know where to go.
I was strengthened to write this poem by a Roman proverb, namely: Inhumanitas omni aetate molesta est. Which means, more or less, that Inhumanity is troublesome in every generation? This proverb encourages us to fight against the inhumanity and it must do all over again from the generation to the generation.
I know that I might be disliked because of this poem but there are so many bloggers on Internet who write about leisure time activities that I don’t have to do that. It is not my thing.
Tornio 25.1.2015
YR
PS. The proverb book didn’t mention who is written the above Roman proverb.
