When the wind touches me and passes by,
i look in how lucky am i to be below the sky,
but all of us are the same then different why,
why on earth there is both truth and lie.
Man is made from dust and will go back to dust,
why do some faces smile, with their hearts at rust.
why there is always a rush to be first,
why no one wants to be last.
The earth is our womb and also our grave,
why doesnt anyone to save our mother crave,
everyone can if they want, they can save,
why live with fright when there is a hope's ray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is a hairline difference Between the first and the last The life comes full circle at start. CP