Even if I try to cease it, it comes to me,
Not from this world, not from that world,
But from the self, within.
I gaze, I rebuke, why? What is wrong with you?
Don’t you see, I don’t believe that it’s true.
It mocked at me, it sneered at me,
As I am rustic, & it’S the “Domineering King”.
I sniff, You loom, you are a farce, you should not steal,
Steal? Do i? it asked me with an ironical zeal.
You people call me when no one is in,
It retorted as if I am guilty & rapt to love him.
I admit I myself is the cause of it.
What we think, that we wish, even by mindless wit.
Yes the forbidden verity, the necessity, it is inevitable.
What we not get in reality, comes from it without any trouble.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem