Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays
and the week with the whole year.
Time cannot be cut
with your weary scissors,
and all the names of the day
are washed out by the waters of night.

Pablo Neruda


Cécile said...

It's so right... Time doesn't really exists in the way we perceive it. Beautiful poem. Thanks.

thinker said...

Happy you liked it Cécile.
Yes, without our marks and signs we would get lost in the infinity of time. Time is so much bigger than all of us, and our funny writings on its walls really get washed away so quickly.