In any year, or in any month, or on any day
In one hour, or one minute, or just one second,
On that very moment, the soul will slip away
So, what do we do, do we wait or do we pray;
The soul will finally vacate its tenement
And all that will be left will be just an empty pod
A pod maybe with beautiful texture which brought excitement
Or jealousy, which is a shallow person’s blueprint;
So, what do we say, but just say farewell
To the beautiful teeth and hair and a maintained body
A decorated prison or an empty vessel, it’s still a shell
But, now without a soul, so do we buy, or do we sell;
Some people live on their vanity and their pride
While others care only about decorations and packaging,
In the end the body is displayed and then all is justified
As the soul escapes, from its imprisonment inside.
Randy L. McClave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem