First, I looked to the sky and I saw all the stars;
there they slept; I saw them;

Then, I felt the wind breezing by;
there it moved; I felt it;

After, a leaf fell from a tree and almost touched by face;
there it fell; I sensed it;

Finally, I went to the steam and noticed its movement;
there it moved; I watched it;

In the end, I looked in the mirror and saw myself;
there I stood; I reflected;

After the end, I wrote a poem about all the life around me;
there it was; within me.

In the afterlife, I taught some folk about what I learned;
there they were; listening;

During that time, they began to question what I said;
there they were; the questions;

During the questions, things became torn and skewed;
Life was no longer within the stars,
no longer in the breeze or the trees, or even the stream,
and definitely no longer within myself;
they had taken it outside, while I was inside.

After the questioning, all the life had vanished,
and these things became nouns;
still-life.

After the answering, all the questions disappeared,
and they only saw the answers;
definite.

After memorizing the answers, nothing else seemed to matter,
and no one paid attention to what I had to say;
my teachings were no longer relevant.

Before calling me a liar, they took what I told and made it something new.

After calling me a liar, I screamed, "No! No! That's you!"

But later, no one believed me.

Stars were just stars.
Trees were just trees.
Streams were just streams.
Leaves, just leaves.