for Sherab Chödzin.
Night spreads gradually its cloak
over pinetree, fir and oak
and penetrates my room as well
without drumstick, flute or bell.
In the darkness I do sigh
for my troubles seem so high
but this sigh is gentle too
and diminishes my woo.
Then, after one hour, or two,
there is not much ado.
My memory dissolved
and infinity took hold.
There is no pride there to get hurt
for it is centerless like curd.
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