Being free is a meditation
From depth of our sensation
We find time to think of our being
And of all this vast creation
Of our minor and major relations
And of our value with a mentions
Now we feel that we are so important
For around us so many of the persons
Then we ponder with a deep gloom
What we are and what is our room
The thought that we are nothing but useless
Creates an unknown and painful vaccum
We think what our life is worth of
As if standing alone on a snowy top
Perplexed with no way to escape
And our soul flutters in the cage of helplessness
Unable to recognize our aim of being
Our sick soul struggles to find a wing
So to avoid this hollowness of hollow life
Man is always engaged, up and doing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem