| The cold dawns of winter
Wrapped themselves
On the trees of the city park The morning walkers
Created spiral circles
Peacock feathers
With their wide open eyes
Shone in lustrous circles In the inkpot of poetry
Rose a c minor from scale of octave;
In the wild forest
Peacocks, stags and reeds;
Go ahead,
Before the untamed, wild elephants
Come to cross the road,
Go forward. Royal courts remain in wait for you,
Life and drowsiness are creeping
Through the way faring towns.
Bullocks are tormenting water and mud
In paddy fields.
Sunflower blossoms,
Thick breasts of plateaus
Secrete sorrows;
Drown not in them, Go forward. Winter is a mere beginning,
Not an end.
Beginning of a revolution,
An epoch, a history,
And an end. The secretions of the medicinal plants
Destroyed in the war marches
Come to you along the mountain slopes
Oh, ocean, to you. Seasons creep again,
In the end winter raise its hoods
On the Christmas trees;
Again trees of the city park. | 
