Leaves blowing haltingly in the whispering wind,
why are leaves bending the air with their
unknowingness? What do they have to gain?
Telling all who pass by to beware of tainted
people pretending - always pretending - to know
things and never knowing anything.
People who are tainted never have a beginning or
a middle, just an end, they are always sitting
on the wind of life, never parting their eyes to
see another existence was there first.
Preying hopelessly on other people's love, they
taint themselves and end up alone, knowing no others.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem