Countless generations before
me are swept through the
oceans and the sands.
Their spirits move on
stupidly but with a
sense of ease.
Forever trying to escape,
forever trying to change.
Humility at death,
We must surrender ourselves,
for everthing returns to dust.
Worship god!
For your are god,
and I too are god,
trees, birds, existence,
god!
Go before the angel
of death a proud and
humble servent of one's
own creation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem