Life is a vessel's state, far and clear
Clinged to hope; wholesomely it'd be to vow
That all too mine, but I'd rather be
Quite fit than it affords.I had a prayer-
'I'll eat, grow fast, never fight to live'
O, now, is a failure but a bad dream,
As I saw it had blend of both-pithy and emptiness.
The rough wind always blows fast
And caresses, as if, teemed from foe's breathe
Must have been an unwitman's count;
A banian is a tree which truely remind-
That all we have is totally not ours,
We just should care little about,
For whereof fair weather declares not diversely
Impity inhance woe, bitterness and bite.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem