RIMA II

An arrow shot by chance
flying madly through the air,
without knowing where
it will strike the ground;

a dry leaf that a windstorm
tears from the tree,
and no one can say
where it will come to rest;

a giant wave that the wind
ripples and blows over the sea,
and passes by without knowing
which beach it is searching for;

light that glows in flickering
circles about to expire,
unable to tell which one
will be the last to shine:

this is what I am, as I wander
through life, never knowing
from where I come, nor where
my steps will carry me.