A Mortal Voyage Poem by Wangchat konyak

No thing beneath the bluish sky
Stands for long.
Neither the youthful prime
Nor wealth nor power.
If happiness is momentum,
Grief too is ephemeral.
Verily, every wound with time
Vanishes into the unknown.
The past, the present and
The future are but glimpse of life.
With the touch of death,
We bury with us but ourselves,
And midway, we abandon:
The voyage, the quest, the dreams,
The love and the hatred —
Incomplete and unaccomplished.
In this short-lived existence,
Why should we harbour hate?
Why should we wage war?
Why lead to division?