Nowhere, to nowhere, from nowhere
Wherefore we wayfare with closed eyes?
Naught, a'where; night, thick as polar field,
What salvation can we have in blind sail?
Horizons are black, no trace of a star,
In midst of an ocean without a shore,
On rolls of waves that swell and fall,
We count our days for what purport?
Though in billions, none is truly smarter,
Each preaches others nonsense he discovers;
Eons we crossed, presume progresses made,
Yet no light ahead, nor a clue for what it's.
In blanket of darkness, hidden ourselves,
We breathe wild rages, blindly fight ourselves,
Heartbeat in thumps to win over all others,
Wherefore in this field this play of naught?
Left out in the middle in darkness a'where,
We know not what's forward and backward;
Nor can we stare ahead in blindfold darkness,
But for the little games to shed away tedium.
That's what we have in wars, friendships,
In trade-offs, deceits, charities and assaults;
Settle scores, invent and creative we go,
All our handiworks of blind sail forward.
Is it cursed we are, or blessed indeed?
No cosmic responsibility ever cast on us,
Nor we're born or taken out on our will,
Just stay put at naught till our end comes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem