We start our working lives believing
we shall be rewarded
by a grateful master:
But we learn that we are merely
cannon-fodder – pay numbers
in a computer run by people
we do not know, who are themselves
mere pay numbers in the same
computer.
Our master is but a name
- we know him not, he knows not us
and when we go
he knows not even we were there,
much less that we are gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem