It's sunrise,
The golden sun glowing red
With the disc visible in the skies.
The hermits going for a bath
Into the river
And the hermitage resounding.
With Hari Om, Hari Om,
Hari, Hari,
The Vedic, Upanishadic mantras.
The lotuses in the pond
Opening
As Buddhas in meditation in the Far East.
Resigning yourself to calm
From all clamour and commotion,
Think you, what the things composing you?
Meditate and contemplate you
By being composed,
Free from all that vexes, worries you.
Let the morning lotus compose you,
Bloom rejuvenating the self,
Taking far away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem