He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.
I am the autumn cloud, empty of rain, see my fulness in the field
of ripened rice.
They hated and killed and men praised them.
But God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.
Toes are the fingers that have forsaken their past.
Darkness travels towards light, but blindness towards death.
The pet dog suspects the universe for scheming to take its place
Sit still, my heart, do not raise your dust.
Let the world find its way to you.
The bow whispers to the arrow before it speeds forth-
Your freedom is mine.