In this life, we were sown,
A Cherub but an Imp grew.
Weaned a lad with an adults’ mind,
We question that we ought to ignore.
Queried with my priest,
How the forces within by that without cowed.
A product of life had we become,
Yet I yearn for the paradise we lost.
I search the stars for answers,
But found not what I sought.
Neither could the Sophist tell.
How this anomaly came to be.
We failed to do, that which we ought,
Only to do that, which we ought not.
Our free Will denied us, not by a tyrant with a wipe,
But it’s Nurture’s gentle prod that perverts us.
Now we’re that which we dread.
No labyrinth could conceal what life had made us.
Nor could night shroud the tears in our eyes.
B'cos our soul will eternally yearn,
For the paradise we lost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem