Dire is your journey,
And heavy is your heart
When last were you given respite?
The authors of fate
and their cruel links of causality,
Do they lift not a finger in your ache?
Perilous life and longing strife
Lest not you forget,
The mortal soul’s nature is to survive
So, cough up your blood,
With your head held high,
Sunder down the stars and
Heed your path with surefire might
Weary from your journey,
And burdened by god’s blithe,
You were made to survive.
By Ena Cintakinta Ivković