We are naked when born Choosing our place among forlorn ancestors After death, a structured life denotes our span Our modern thinking will not save the hunger pangs For the meals are crisp, delightful as religious rites are
Born are we to serve our fathers Who give everything to their fathers Living a life of servitude Never striding next to kings What of the princes knowing no solicitude
We are only mere classmates In a college of wisdom Wizened by the plight of our teachers To lead a nation or cure cancer We are naked to ourselves, as we are simply accident-prone
If we linger on in this blue planet Life most come to a tragic end Where the followers of the chapel proceedings Get the most out of this age-old tradition Often divorcing logic from religion
I beckon to the thinkers, who I know, to understand rather than relish.