You call it TIME,, but to me golden shore,
Each second, a sand-grain each.
Picking them one by one, my labour,
Soaking with tears and melting with toil,
A gorgeous mansion,here I build.
You call it LIFE, but to fate a funny toy
To be washed away by the callous waves.
This riverbed, this desert, this golden shore.
Each wind sprinkles the tiny sand-grains,
But my children running, playing and sleeping.
You call them dreams, mirage ! or marvel !
They hurrah, never yield to your interpretations.
The wheels of that dark chariot, can never crush.
This bliss, this shore,this sands of joyful grains.
For, they, glued with my unquenchable thirst.