A pioneer
The sun is the pendulum in heaven,
don’t know how many years have gone by,
under the lofty sky,
exploring afar,
with mountains to escape,
leaving a line of shadows,
escaped from the prehistoric wilderness,
to the cloudlike land,
smiling indiffrently,
in the open wilderness,
the pioneer is tiny,
like a grain of sand,
waving a hoe in loneliness,
a pickaxe etched by sun and moon,
when’s the end,
where’s the end,
the horizon’s always teasing him,
in his dream.
