The question of existence bothers me:
To be or not to be or still to be?
Once being off the track,
Twice finding myself on target -
Daily routine, weekly concerns,
Regret from month to month.
What is the way?
What is the real cause of mind?
No answer - then I definitely deny to be.
They ask and they inquire into
Whether there's something past the fringe;
They have three things for me to stand to -
Faith, hope and charity on the edge.
Is that the rescue?
Is it the reality update?
If so, if only chance subsists,
I'll turn the key and claim: I want to be.
Eternal question put the master of the poetry
And more or less it does still bother me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem