We are all refugees,
Bidding for our time,
And our space, in the
Diminishing universe.
Powerless, puny mortals,
At the mercy of the gods,
With the absence of pride,
We have no more existence.
We are floating driftwood,
Tossed, battered, and worn,
Soon we will disintegrate,
Into meaningless wastes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem