Without Reading Anyone

Everyone lives within their own life.
While living, they search for life's meaning and truth.
Some find it, some don't; some find it only to lose it again.
Some die beating their heads against walls,
others die beating walls against their heads.

This is how everything eventually gets endured.
It's even possible that everything becomes exactly what can be borne.
Who lives by what, who knows! And whose burden is it to judge!

This life's truth, that life's lie...
Even without seeking any of this,
one can go on living...with both what is and what isn't.

To live, one needn't read anyone at all.
Can anyone truly be read anyway?
Where one can reach death effortlessly
without even reading oneself,
what's the point of wasting time
trying to read others!