From the suddenly swollen seasonal clouds
Ceaseless rain falls
In unending streams it comes pouring down
Onto our present barren soil.
...
From behind the still vibrant foliage one can see
The crunching edges of the saw
A humming shaft of sound.
...
For a long time with unbound bent eyes
With folded supplicating hands
Am ceaselessly meditating only you
Your nature in an amorphous assurance
...
How much can these swollen veined
Bony quivering hands contain
When I am bedeviled by the scorched gray
of an impersonal ominous landscape all around?
...
My mother is now asleep under
the cold soil of Hetom Khan's graveyard.
I hear now, in this town live a million people,
But I never see my mother anymore.
...
Rising up dropp by dropp from the ocean
Water comes down in torrents form the mountains
Though the plateau on the plains
Gushing forth and tearing down the ramparts of stones,
...
If you can, ventriloquist,
Make this blabbing city
Cry.
...
Inside my very birth
my death exists.
Within my distance sleeps
My innocent nearness.
...
When darkness falls
And night deepens, you are far away
I can no longer see you
But then distances disappear
...
She, who I love
Never presents herself through surrender
Indeed she never gives herself,
Never drops with exhaustion
...