Little wishes are released by our father’s hands,
Each one of us reaches its own destination, our motherland
We get a mother and an earthly father too,
And write our own stories, we creatures, who in actuality
Belong to the heavenly father’s land.
A life span of mortals we live,
Just like a comma put in the eternities of stories written in desert sand.
Our little life splutters with a crackle and ends just like that-
And so we progress through umpteen lives
Living and giving countless experiences to that supreme spirit,
where it experiences itself through us,
his little wishes we were from the very start.