I wonder why my practice ne’er picks up!
I’ve tried to correct lapses on my side;
My practice always stays my woeful cup;
Each eve, I muse while on my scooter-ride!
I ponder why but it is of no use;
The profit made is not a sum worthwhile;
My precious time improves my soaring muse;
Will God not see my prayerful plea-file?
And yet, my mind is steadfast as a rock;
I can’t discern the plans God has for me;
I cannot bear the ways people can mock;
How can I fleece the men of poverty?
Perhaps, my clinic is a place to pray!
God leads His righteous souls in strange a way!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem