Lived, grown we have in this puzzle,
This that has made us, who we are
Different from each other, we become each day
As we turn page to another, together reading on
Towards that page when it all ends for good,
Though as we read each page becomes uglier.
The first readers say it not to have been like this,
The beginning was a wonder, the best pages ever
Which each one would have loved to be part of,
But it all started to change as their sons read on.
Now we all wish our births were not part of it,
As only death, misery, disease rule the pages.
Today as we flip on from one to another,
Hope for better lines, pages fades slowly
We live in darkness of our tomorrow to be,
For the future was kept secret from us.
But some wish and yarn for the last page,
They believe that a better book awaits after,
That, which was fore told to the first readers
Thou others, the non believers remain scared,
Scared of how, what the last pages will be like
For we all, the readers are part of this horror
And what we read are our lives that we lead,
None would wish to rush through their life
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem