Again and again, the ghosts of aeons past
walk the narrow corridors of your life.
Again and again, they call to you
in the darkness in which you are lost.
Again and again, you hear them not,
preoccupied in vain to find the way.
Again and again, you stumble and fall
into the hardness of walls and floors.
Again and again, you will not learn to love
the world into which you have been born.
Again and again, you will not learn to leave
the world in which you age and die.
Again and again, the confines of your life
urge you onwards as this world turns round.
Again and again, the ghosts cry out to you
knowing what they have learned.
Again and again, you cry out also,
not knowing why, for this you have not learned.
Again and again, the corridors of your life
end blankly, wordlessly, in empty rooms.
From the countless life I was in search of who was the builder of this house...........Oh! how painful is this cycle of birth and death............Now I have found you, Oh! Builder of this house..............My all the beams of desires are shattered..........Thou shalt never build my house again.....Lord Buddha........Good Write....
Of all the stanzas, I loved the last one, true, and worth the effort.10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice understanding of Budhism and fine conversion of understandings in a poetic expression.
Thanks for the kind comment!