A poet said:
Do you not see how the two ever-renewables [night and day]
Wear us out, while we jest in secret and in public?
Trust not this world and its pleasures
For its homes are not real homes
And work for your benefit before your death
And be not deceived by the abundance of friends and brothers
Is nothing but a blanket of Bliss.
Who took it as their abode,
Surely are the ones lost.
Deception of evil,
Transformed them into puppets.
What’s to it but a moment,
Traded for immortality of joy.
Where the purpose is to worship,
Failed are many.
Creation we are,
To our Creator we’ll return…