394. People who weigh not wealth and life-time get them
little to enjoy. Don't live with ascetics
but reel in joy at home. Drink not hill-honey
but one from the flowers of the thorny plants.
395. O, my stubborn heart! You walk behind the cruel
Lord of Death thinking about the faults made.
Today, you're gone. Your women and kids are th' ties.
You value life, speak well and die but don't renounce.
396. O, chief of the hills with roaring falls flowing
through millet-fields! Those who renounce their children
and wealth are tied to their body yet. It seems
an elephant goes through th' gate but not its tail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem