The self is a concretion,
As amber to the tree,
And seashell to the pearl;
An antiquated 'We'.
Like wax within the honey,
The shell around the snail,
Ambergris from sperm whales,
Where the waters swell.
The wrappings of a mummy
Inside an ancient tomb,
And unguent left in jars,
Where the Lotus blooms.
The self is a concretion
That's built around a host-
Its pinion'd eye of darkness
More holy than the ghost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very well related and concluded and brings good consideration to us all. And I enjoy reading it, for it is also happy