A rusty nail rests in the gutter.
I feel sorry to see it decay.
Life is impermanent and
I'm heartbroken to have to learn
transcendent truth
from the point of view of a tack
wallowing in the sewer
but if that's one way
of nailing the truth then let there be
one thousand, times one thousand and
one thousand and one beds of spikes
for me to sleep on and in time
I'll learn to be a fakir if I want to
learn anything about truth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem