Born As Sinners...

End is a playing doll, made of bones;

Later it becomes usual tomb stones.

It’s a hymn that all must learn

While the corpse is taken to burn

Our home is not on earth to rest

We are just only like normal the dust.

Lament after shadow dispels dark,

Take up within ours we fail to mark

in a little while our holidays decay;

Bearing anguish our lives go away;

Feeling thirst in drought, our souls;

The story repeats; the same unrolls,

In love with the critical last breath,

The cycle goes on around the corners

Of  life, disease and we all born as

not as sacred saint's, but sinners.....

BY

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI