It can't take a joke, <br />find a star, make a bridge. <br />It knows nothing about weaving, mining, farming, <br />building ships, or baking cakes. <br />In our planning for tomorrow, <br />it has the final word, <br />which is always beside the point. <br /> <br />It can't even get the things done <br />that are part of its trade: <br />dig a grave, <br />make a coffin, <br />clean up after itself. <br /> <br />Preoccupied with killing, <br />it does the job awkwardly, <br />without system or skill. <br />As though each of us were its first kill. <br /> <br />Oh, it has its triumphs, <br />but look at its countless defeats, <br />missed blows, <br />and repeat attempts! <br /> <br />Sometimes it isn't strong enough <br />to swat a fly from the air. <br />Many are the caterpillars <br />that have outcrawled it. <br /> <br />All those bulbs, pods, <br />tentacles, fins, tracheae, <br />nuptial plumage, and winter fur <br />show that it has fallen behind <br />with its halfhearted work. <br /> <br />Ill will won't help <br />and even our lending a hand with wars and coups d'etat <br />is so far not enough. <br /> <br />Hearts beat inside eggs. <br />Babies' skeletons grow. <br />Seeds, hard at work, sprout their first tiny pair of leaves <br />and sometimes even tall trees fall away. <br /> <br />Whoever claims that it's omnipotent <br />is himself living proof <br />that it's not. <br /> <br />There's no life <br />that couldn't be immortal <br />if only for a moment. <br /> <br />Death <br />always arrives by that very moment too late. <br /> <br />In vain it tugs at the knob <br />of the invisible door. <br />As far as you've come <br />can't be undone.<br /><br />Wislawa Szymborska<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-death-without-exaggeration/
