Why should we live, my friends?
If life is just dictatorship's another form;
If we have not the liberty, to decide, our roads to traverse,
But still called upon to battle the ensuing storms?
For, isn't he a fool, who battle-scarred and worn;
And soon to knock upon oblivion's eternal door,
Having fought all his life, against terrible odds,
Is still confused as to' what he has been fighting for'?
For the 'wise' know their destination and 'why';
By applying their dexterity in ration and logic;
But the clock! It's destined to move its hands, forever;
Not for it to know why it ticks!
And like the clock, most of us, in ignorance,
Tragically, keep on moving & moving our hands.
In response to some unseen clockwork,
So why indeed should we live, my friends?
Yes, a monstrous joke has been played on us, for
We are nothing but freaks, unlike others gifted (?) with life,
For only we can think & reason among all living things,
And therefore realize, the futility, of our strife.
Hence, is there any point in living, my friends?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem