There's nothing here,
So I can't be freed;
Nothing in the heart and soul of me.
Nothing's thinking,
And nothing breathes;
Nothing's blowing
The rustling leaves.
Nothing all morning
Nothing all night;
Naught between the darkness and the light.
Nothing is flagrant,
In the foaming air;
And when I go away
Nothing's still there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem