Be not proud, my dear man,
Of what you are,
Or for what you possess.
As everything is an illusion,
Nothing is real,
Nothing is certain.
The creator created you,
From nothing but dust.
A day will surely come,
When you’ll be nothing,
More than Ashes and Dust.
The winds of time will wipe,
Out even the traces of,
These Ashes and Dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
undenyable my friend..............yet hope rises eternal in human hearts! Ashes and dust indeed.....indeed very good poetry!