Seling and buying is
Like coming and going.
But see, nothing to sell
And nothing to buy,
And see, no where to go,
And from no where to come.
As because, nothing is
Your own, my dear.
But you are roaring here,
Just like the dry air
Of the desert and nurturing
Your ego with your
Blood-pressure that is low,
In the tented shore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem