O land of charming and sweet flowers what need is there to explain:
the burning red tulip, grief-stricken and sad, best reflects our bloody heart.
The gods of Himalayas speak thus to thee, to me and to all:
Fate is a name we give to the retribution of what we do and act.
In the bitter winds of winter, the poor labourer works in a naked body,
though his skill provides shawls to the rich.
The world shall never be loyal to thee:
it is and has been ever in flux. |
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