Before birth; yes, what time was it then? A time like now, and when they were dead, it would be still like now:
these trees, that sky, this earth, those acorn seeds, sun and wind, all the same, while they, with dust-turned
hearts, change only.
Truman Capote, Other Voices, Other Rooms
Before my birth, how was it then?
Sometimes I ask myself discreetly.
The answer is – all was the same:
The world has never changed completely.
And even centuries ago
The sea as always was profound;
Skulked in the foliage of the dawn,
A nightingale was warbling loud;
And poppies’ blossom in the field
Was always glowing there softly,
The petals trembling with the wind,
They every summer sparkled fondly.
And shooting stars pierced the sky
Like arrows of some fairy archer;
The moonlight plumpy apple pie
It always gilded twilight branches.
The Milky Way adorned the night
With precious jewels every August;
And there floated like a kite,
A cloud shadowing the forest.
Before my birth, how was it then?
The nature’s rules are always constant:
All happens on and on again,
The world will never change its content.