By birth
I'm destined to take my ultimate rest
in a bed of pyre.
From the cortege
my painter-child will emerge
for his farewell stroke.
A sacred fire will chant
silent prayers for salvation.
Am I a born sinner,
or a trapped time,
in the net of ‘Maya'?
I explore every corner;
words pervade the air,
and unknowingly
I utter..... OM.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem