The world is a fast moving train <br />That often crosses borders of brain. <br /> <br />Here life is born but for death, <br />Must decay all forms of health. <br /> <br />Laughter must turn to sorrow; <br />Past will become tomorrow. <br /> <br />Each morn is to become even; <br />One one will be lost of eleven. <br /> <br />Loneliness will search you out; <br />All pleasure will be put to rout. <br /> <br />All wanton springs mourn at last, <br />When fierce Fate's flood flows too fast. <br /> <br />Motionless dead bodies rest in graves, <br />Moving dead bodies live in built caves. <br /> <br />All walks lead to a single goal <br />Of hanging in the vast world's gaol. <br /> <br />World, in fact, is an ambulance <br />That does not approve resistance. <br /> <br />It carries bodies to Death's house <br />As if dark Death were bright Life's spouse. <br /> <br />Without Death, Life is incomplete, <br />His speck from her face we cannot delete. <br /> <br />While sitting in this ambulance <br />We must have some jerks of repentance.<br /><br />Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ambulance-7/
