The riddle of life, a constant game,
We live and breathe, only to die in vain,
Theosophy sports an interesting view,
A Heaven, A Hell, separated by two,
The devil, for whom sorrows and sufferings expel,
And, God, for whom happiness and serenity dwell;
Life is one giant big clock,
Wound tight from the starters block,
The spring of man's sap runneth over,
Autumn of man's fate, a mound dressed in clover,
Our lives spin through God's zoetrope,
Forever sphered in this growing heliotrope,
Like common ants, we're all victimized,
Stomped upon, a forgotten demise,
Faith endows, encloses this mystery
Brings no proof, no answer, only enriched history.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem