In this place of hatred and arid hearts I was born,
Like a water lily that blooms in a stagnant swamp.
Life has passed rather fast,
Though I don’t know how long it will last.
I don’t believe in miraculous rains,
Or the removal of evil from human brains.
Nor in the magical transformation of spring,
Or the happiness it would bring.
Even less in the dawn of a bright new tommorrow,
Or the lessening of my sorrow.
Yet here I sit, smiling,
Though inside my heart is whinning.
Yet I am alive;
This is the irony of life.