I don’t care
where the river originates
what currents sweep it along
how many years and places it winds through.
I don’t care
where the river goes
how many dear ones will scatter petals above
how many malcontents labor to make it turbid.
When the river comes, it comes
when the river goes, it goes.
All I do is sit on the high bank
watching all my troubles, ignorance and lust,
being swept along, without uttering a word.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem