Are we digging for what doesn't exist?
Why in this manner do we persist?
On what notion do we insist
That this jewel is there in the mist?
Off we go, shovel in hand
Sailing philosophy to a distant land
We're all there, prying the sand
For what a man could never demand
We leave each land with dirt over-turned
But the search within, still it burned!
We set sail, having nothing learned
Drowned in our sorrows
We weep and we mope
Our souls are raw
From the search for hope
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem