When did it happen I don’t remember!
A fragile voice from my depths inner
Was whispering again and again while
Pursuing my passions and desires dear:

Life is larger than the religions all,
And philosophies, sciences, and arts all;
They are no more than means and machines
To take refuge, and for self-gratification;

More elaborate they get farther you are,
Lost in the labyrinth, away you wander
From life, holding an empty pot of creation
You create the Creator in your own image.

A saint or a sinner, a prince or a pauper,
Whatever you’re, life does never spare.
Life is most scrupulous, utterly ruthless.
Life ‘not a four-letter word’ owns you.