A rock on the river sits
Collecting moss, tufts, and weeds
As others moved by a torrent
To unknown shore from a distant
A rock, I am, in that sense -
Of self-value - what have I missed?
Than a new flow passing by
Under the arms of its stream
Each bathes of sunrise and sunsets
Clueless mornings of muddled clouds
Or a cascade of moonrise
I'm unmoved without self-pity
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem