There lived a saint with pragmatic and passionate
In hiding away for off from human hold
Leading spirit in prayers and speculation
One day of early hours, find a stranger
Who receives with due respect and pleasure?
He hands a sword to keep at safe and return
After a term on which he will come and collect
Until discharging daily rituals keeps a hand on sword
Takes it out while going to collect fruits and flowers
Tardily starts using the weapon cutting the boughs
Later to hurt the animals around
His heart learns the skill to scourging the passer-by
Thus turned to be a burglar to steal and hurt others
Losing the old way of prayer and spirituality
It is, a lesson, keeping undesirable weapon is unworthy
Not only hurts others but equally harms the owner
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem