Sailing a boat made of the rotten wood,
We reap the bitter fruits from the tree of evil.
Gone with the current, we flow into the open sea,
Where waves repeat themselves without cease.
We have brought provisions only for one night,
But to the shore afar—three thousand miles. . .
Where vexation comes from? It is sad to admit,
But it comes out from one’s karma bitterness.
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Ron