All things add up to zero.
It matters not if you reside high above the lawless boulders,
Or how happily your days are spent
For now,
Soon they must come:
Officers, Indians, fangs and fungus,
That which tears between the bones.
Little does it mean if you sit cross-legged and naked,
Or use an iron drying pan,
A day spent happily in play
Will at given times turn to venom, and stay.
Then autumn breezes will flow
Right through the thin skin,
A blue breeze, a breeze that says farewell.
The null set is then:
And it is not unpleasant
For a life well-lived;
But a terror-torrent for those who only take
And do not give.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem