Singly stripped from off life's bark
play's days phase no relays return,
passing flicker arcs in dark:
swift sparkle, matchless pages turn,
leaves branches bare soon to lie stark.
Scarred scarecrow stands as seasons burn
concentric rings which leave their mark
till slip from scene unseen earns urn.
From laze abed to rise with lark,
mere mortals must countdown discern:
all early, late, face fate's loan-shark,
place, pride, replaced by karmic churn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem