The ticking of clock
Keeps us telling
That we are falling
Into the depth of time
And the hands of clock
Leading us
To the grave of ours
That we prepare
By our own hands
The fast we move
The closer we reach
To the stormy beach
Where
There is none
To listen to our screech
Senseless race
Of modernity and progress
Will carry us
To a severe mesh
It seems to be
The strangest joke
That everybody wants
To live forever
Yet rushing blindly nearer
He feels happy
That he is moving faster
Totally unaware of the fact
He is heading towards
A severe disaster
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem