I Am Not Ready To Die Even For Myself

Life is precious Which they don’t deny Yet under their rhetoric They want me to die For the country For the religion Friend, I am fed up With their astounding hypocrisy And slowly losing the grip of sanity Of my mind like leaves of autumn tree Falling apart, scattered all around The thrust of repulsion is so strong No courage I gather to collect them upon No change of winds I see The whole system seems to stand still Roots are shaken Boughs are reluctant to grow Nowhere to go Nowhere to find truth Trap of falsehood is set everywhere Bluffs are hovering in the air The fear of missing freedom Crawling like a leach Humiliation of being cheated upon Spinning in the mind like a top Friend, even trust I do not invest Upon my ungrateful soul Let alone on a piece of land Or on a plate of treacherous sentiments I am happy to be rootless Above the layers of all narrowness Like a gust of wind whose boughs spread Beyond the men-invented boundaries Friend, how I can die for the gangs of pretty thieves In fact, I am not ready to die for myself Before the arrival of death Pity for those who are be-fooled And died a death for nothing but falsehood.