اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
Days pass in slow-moving shadows
Ghosts dance on the stage of haste
People chase an invisible prize
What prize, after all?
A race of empty vanities
Where foolishness gains a chorus
Competing for the crown of futility
Which one will shine next?
Fear of being forgotten
Fear of being nothing
Fear of not being an echo
Of leaving no trace
And at the same time
Fear of being seen, too close, too clear
While they count their seconds
I lose myself in deep abysses
Voids that echo, resound
In them, in me, in all of us
We are lost on the path to nowhere
Our devotion to moments that evaporate
Until the next urgency traps us
Imprisoning us in the routine of fear
Fear of being forgotten
Fear of being nothing
Fear of not being an echo
Of leaving no trace
And at the same time
Fear of being seen, too close, too clear
