What is the meaning of our life
if we are but a mist that quickly goes away?
Like a rose that blooms but for a day?
What does it matter then that we have
ever passed this way?
Whatever happens
to the smiles we have smiled?
to the tears we have cried?
Whatever happens
to dreams we dreamt and reached?
to failures that turned out bitter-sweet?
Whatever happens to raindrops that fell
if they shall not rise again towards heaven
and be made purer than they have ever been?
Whatever happens?
O whatever happens
if your fallen soul
shall not be redeemed?
By now, I can only pray…
I can only believe
that everything is not meaningless,
that there is reserved a destiny,
even for a withered flower,
even for mist that quickly goes away…
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