My writing poetry
Is also vain actions,
Vain knowledge
And at times senseless.
When I think my poetry,
My arts, crafts, mystical
Formulas, incantations,
My scripts, my language,
Customs, tradition and so on
Are mine, I am under delusion.
I have to follow the nature,
I have to admit the incidents
Like sunrise and sunset and
Try to find no fault with that.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem