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The Agony of Tomorrow
Life is the other name of hard labour,
How much do we pay for it,
We are divided, God knows, in how many portions,
Every moment is harder than the previous one,
The deep thoughts and worries are lying in many layers,
How costly is love,
The devotion has become a rare thing,
Relations are stuck to us as thorns to the three,
And love is like shelterless sparrows,
Whose nests have been shattered.
Those stories which were told by the grandmother,
That look which had grown flowers
All have become strangers,
Now nothing is left.
Tomorrow when our children will grow youg,
They will demand dreams from us,
They will ask for their share,
I wonder what would we give to them.
Those dreams, those stories, Those sacrifices, those passions,
That devotion, those simple pleasures,
Which were give to me by my grandmother,
All those have been wasted,
And we are standing empty handed.
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