Flowing ever through this life, toiling, laboring every day just
to make a living, never getting ahead, measures of existence fad-
ing in the distance, life bereft of everything fun.
Laughter having no room to move around or take people into depths
of pleasure, always stepping to tunes of another beginning, living
in an opposite universe far from all these problems and things of
no use.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem