No control we have, no power.
Like the branches of a tree in storm, our
lives are here run
in darkness of the night and in the sun.
Only the fools among the crowd
boast of strength and feel proud
as if they were Pharaohs. When they get drowned
into the fathomless failure of life, their crowns
seem to be dust
and then they cry
before they die but their eyes remain stone-like dry.
We are like the branches of a tree in a storm.
We look for only His mercy who forms
and who destroys