Steadily climbing stairs of life and it's many difficulties,
always striving to attain the best of what we can, blindly
moving forward.
Never knowing what lies ahead, running as fast as possible,
we somehow find our way through hardships, sacrifices, and
suffering to have a few moments of laughter and pleasure.
Then once again the cycle begins, beating of our hearts
matching rhythms of an interior race, one that we continue
to strive to win to no avail it seems.
Our life cycle appears to be a circle, an ever-ending pro-
duct of our destiny that we cannot escape no matter how
hard we might try.
Our lives seem to have been prearranged to suffering and
hardships, situations and circumstances continuing to
create what we live through.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are right in your description of life, but shouldn't you use images to differentiate prose from poem?