Do not be so sad if a river runs dry,
But be in no doubt—love remains constant:
Love for the gods,
Love for father and mother,
Love for the dear ones of life, held in the mind.
Do not be so convinced of the death of the soul,
But believe: a body expires like invisible air.
A greater conqueror then conquers the soul,
Which surrenders to the deeds it has done.
Do not be certain about the future's fate,
But wish that good will come about.
Do not turn back to the past—
The past of old pains,
The past of dreams,
The past of the dead.
For in this life,
If joys remain, they overcome sadness.
Life is a walkway to meet others:
Frowning and smiling people,
Distresses and traumas,
Comforts and worries,
Destitution and ease,
Low and high.
And it crosses the way to each tomorrow.
Life is designed with different species of disorder.
Higgledy-piggledy is life—
Like trying to shave with a blunt knife.
It takes a lifetime to master through,
Only to exit at last to the grave.
Time is passing.
It is real.
There are countless things to care for,
Innumerable to love,
Limitless things to wonder about.
It ends with aspirations—
Only to betray you at last.
You weep to die. It is vain then.
In the war of life,
Everything is unfair.
Innocents are killed in the backlashes.
Bad overcomes good,
And good overcomes bad.
These mixtures
Are everyday experiences.
Life lives on…
And this is how life is to live.
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