we keep busy to forget
the demands of real life
we keep busy with the cleaning
of the carpets and the floors
we keep busy with the ceiling
getting rid of the cobwebs
and making friends with the curtains
we get off from dusts and
remove the stains and we keep
the lawn trim and manicured
we list the things to be done
things to be bought and things
to be discarded and then when it
is over we think again
what is really the meaning of my life?
that remains, despite the hustle, to be the question.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem