Days walk-by
as the seconds tick away.
We grow old
but observe constancy.
As the earth rotates
with no turn of its inhabitants
our hair turn grey
every breath we take.
We pass through life
through us it passes.
We harness it,
but it is selective;
doing good and bad
to different mortals.
We must pass through
the travails...
It is the journey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem