Like the rise and fall of the curtain,
the course of our lives begins;
Like the unfolding of a script,
Just like the scenes of a play;
Like the chapters of a book,
or the pages of it;
the days of our lives unravels
as we flip through;
And before the final fall,
we must find purpose;
like a child struggles for breathe,
we must find our path;
ardent in our passion,
lost in our art;
for we must hit the rod while the iron is hot;
just before the curtain falls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem