When a day starts and sun rises,
Nature gets excited,
To plan a new day, as decided.
But when we see a rising sun, in the east.
We need to ask this at least.
Is this really a new day or new days are deceased?
Because we see ourselves going round and round
Doing same things everyday, like we got bound.
Now sun rises everyday but a new day is nowhere to be found.
Dates are changing but not the day.
We are getting older and older, living the same way.
We have got life span of many years as they say.
I don’t know if that’s true but I can only pray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. - Oscar Wilde.... A similar thought in your poem Rohit.. Well written and well said... Our existence is meaningless unless we do something significant to give it a valid meaning.. Welcome to poemhunter..
you got it correct :)