Where is an intimate
friend
who’ll hear the secret
from me straight out–
of what human beings
have been
from the moment they began?
They
are
born
of toil
and molded
from
the clay of sorrow.
They wander the world for a time,
then
set
off.
Translated by Juan Cole
from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 338
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the Aleut natives
of the Aleutian islands
have no word for “death”
the closest they come is a phrase
that roughly translates as
“done visiting this place”