An ant is moving unknowingly,
Without the destination surely…
The artificial wind is blowing high
Yet it walks and walks with a deep sigh…
It stumbles, stops, then thinks a little
And then moves forward like a beetle…
The more it moves, the wind turns burning
Yet it moved, moves and will be continuing …
Someone sees such meaningless moves,
Calculating the logic behind, he probes…
He laughs witnessing the stumbled journey
How stupid to move forward towards endless agony…
At the late midnight hour, breaks the nightmare,
Who is that Ant? Perhap You, I and everybody are!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem