I know we are going to die
Gathering and stacking
To no avail
When you make a mound of deeds
And think that you are brave and rich
You can stand on them and touch
The heavens,
Who cares?
For we are forever tethered
To the cords of death
And it will come with its icy hands
To lay on our heads
When it is time
We will go.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem