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.
