Nay! It is rather a pathway for the soft breeze
It is a source of water for the birds to drink.
It belongs to the luminaries
To bathe in its cool water, in the summer nights.
You assume it is yours,
Yet, does it meander and flow into the veins of trees
By your command?
It was here long before you came to this world,
It will still be here long after you have departed this life.
It will ever remain, alternating between ebb and flow
Do you think the meadow belongs to you?
Behold the bees unhesitatingly sip nectar from its flowers.
I see how the ants so laboriously built colonies in its soil!

According to their law and logic, you are an intruder,
A thief, who has usurped their rights, disturbed their harmony.
Even if you owned all the fields of the world,
You will never be happier than the butterfly of the field
Do you consider yourself beautiful?
Well, you are no lovelier, nor more generous
Than a rose, that exudes its fragrance.
Do you deem yourself mighty, with sword in your hand?
Then it is odd that a mosquito should extract nourishment
From your cheeks!
Do you think you are rich?
In vain would you enjoy your costly attire
Had it not been for the silkworm that made it possible for you
To revel in your fine apparel.

Do you think you are strong?
If so, command sleep not to overtake you;
Order the dark to turn away from your eyelids.
Ask gray hair not to approach and appear in your head,
Bid freshness to remain forever in your cheeks.
Do you think you are knowledgeable?
Then tell me where does imagination come from?
In which vale or valley is it born?
What is the Life that appears and disappears?
What is the Time that people praise and blame
O Clay! You are neither purer than, nor superior to
The dirt you walk on, which someday will enclose you.
No matter how sturdily built a palace you dwell in,
In time, it will surely be completely torn down.
It doesn't matter how finely sewn a robe you wear,
Someday it will be tattered and become ragged.
Let no hate and enmity enter your heart,
I have turned mine into a temple of love.
I am more deserving of your love
Than clothes that will wear out and rot
And money that will be spent or lost.