Listening to the wild call of insensitive beings, standing on
the brink of edgeless causeways.
Settling in among dead branches, leaves entangle themselves
within my hair, getting blown about by winds of despair.
Curtains falling, casting out beauty before me, closing out
the view of unimportance and carrying it away, beyond the
reach of all imagining.
Solicitlessly casting reasons of being into the winds of
never-ending seasons.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem