People come into the world inside a vast hourglass, outside of which pass by images of the past, of an immense universe of galaxies, nebulae, and stars. They build their family, their home, their circle of friends, their connections, their career, their enterprise, and their way of life on the sand. We slip through the sand of time Without hearing a world that tilts and spills One grain is enough to stand upright One grain… for everything to tip beyond us They travel and sometimes rest to watch the sun descend into a sea of tears, beyond the lunar meadows. They plant a parasol on the gravel. They have heard it said that somewhere there exists a perilous zone of quicksand where one must not set foot. We slip through the sand of time Without hearing a world that tilts and spills One grain is enough to stand upright One grain… for everything to tip beyond us But some younger than they, drunk on adventure, become soldiers to defend the limits of the hourglass. They pitch a tent at the threshold of the quicksand, with their brothers-in-arms in distant lands, and disappear, no one knows where. We slip through the sand of time Without hearing a world that tilts and spills One grain is enough to stand upright One grain… for everything to tip beyond us As time goes by, the limits of the hourglass narrow with the rhythm of the descent, but the loss of vitality prevents them from noticing. They go less and less far from home, and gradually they lose everything: health, physical strength, beauty, lovers—women and men, friends, loves, family. We slip through the sand of time Without hearing a world that tilts and spills One grain is enough to stand upright One grain… for everything to tip beyond us They become collectors of memories, of furniture and utensils, while the living space shrinks, is reduced to a room, a bed, perhaps a single city block. We slip through the sand of time Without hearing a world that tilts and spills One grain is enough to stand upright One grain… for everything to tip beyond us One day, their soul, their spirit, takes refuge on the last grain of sand within reach, to pass from this world into another universe, while everything tips. Then the hand of life turns the hourglass over, so that they return to the world. We slip through the sand of time Without hearing a world that tilts and spills One grain is enough to stand upright One grain… for everything to tip beyond us
