What's this procession
Of moments
To an unknown depth, as
No mind's sense
About the ticks coming,
But a question mark is always there
To greet -to search the answer
With the beats going on in the depth -
None is there even to guide
But only the echoes inside;
To be dismayed -to be ousted
'To be or not to be' may be the
Condition -O' that's the option.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem