Song of Life

All my days passed walking on thorns. All my nights passed running on knives. Not in spring ever, my life passed only in Storm, rain and winter; Nobody offered love. Fragrance hurt my nose, flowers remained silent. Drunken melody played in ears, cuckoos were not seen. It's such a violin that plays with wrong tune. It's such a verse that lacks rhythm and rhyme. Tearing the pages of ledger, I made paper-boxes; So the debts of life remained unpaid, what a fall! Life is a harsh sea; who will save him from drowning If he goes on a voyage there with his little canoe? This is my life; but, alas, where will I flee leaving it? I run on knives, still I stay touching this life of mine.