Life is a ceaseless search for the good things;
The goodness in every man, every heart,
The good times one share with others,
The kind of life where one can do things without guilt.
We walk through this world searching, looking
For the things we are not even sure of
Day after day, year after year passes by
Suddenly we realize we've spent enough time but we're empty-handed.
What have we done? or have we done enough?
Have we served the purpose? or we're not even aware there's one?
Did we ever stop and take things in stride? or we let them pass unnoticed?
Can we show the blessedness of being alive? or is it a living hell?
We come to a point when we're tired of things,
Tired of our marriages and our affairs, tired of our jobs as well,
Tired of our routine and our surroundings,
Tired of everything about us, or aren't we just tired of ourselves?
We search and wait impatiently for what we know not
And when it hits us we're never satisfied
We find out there are other things and we move on
Is this how life should be? Is contentment non-existent? Is it death?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.