In this world of death
Each one is struggling,
Struggling for existence.
No one will survive,
All know it well.
Ignore not, your own
Constitution, my dear
Son of the soil.
Go not to stay
In the dreams but
They are all tossing with
The waves of time.
Your condition is something
Like the foaming bubbles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem