Wisdom and peace may come to you,
Because there shall be the same end -
Everyone, mighty and poor, strive to come first
And in the end, is left to rust.
None shall remember, your glorious name
Nor your beautiful face. As someone said:
"Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust."
Why do you feel, the feel of the eternity?
You are born the same, of red blood and flesh…
So why do you quarrel for bit of gust,
The gust of money, fame and opportunity?
Let love conquer the battlefield of life,
In which there shall be no recover.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem