Why my mind cries, mind does not know;
This way many had cried before;
I hear how fast waves of time go
Leaving me alone on the shore.
After many years when no more
I’ll be on earth, rivers will flow,
Cuckoos will sing, tigers will roar,
And storm of my sorrow will blow.
Poets are born not to rejoice,
They come like flute only to cry;
When all others make fun and noise,
They burn in pain, burning they die.
Pains of life and people raise voice,
My mind trembles, my eyes burn dry.
