The endless sounds produce a racket,
The clattering, the clanking, the rattling;
These resonate together as a din of marvellous nature.
This noise has boundless variety,
Bouncing into the ears
Obeying the boundary.
Pursuit is the action understood
Of this weather too loud;
Pursuit is of peace, chasing peace
Is to learn the search for quiet.
Boundless searches are being made,
Endless movements emerge
That avoid the quarters, the lodgings
In which you persist.
Any loud-natured domicile is a post
Of extravagance, housing of brilliance.
The chase is on for another house of quiet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem