In my place there is no a fence or a rail—
All the six never shut doors let you move
From side to side, inward and outward,
To the left and to the right with no barrier.
From the main room you can contemplate
A white rack of cloud at noon and the sky
Full of stars in the dead of night.
The side rooms are empty—inspect them
One by one, making your round
From the eastern wall which rests against
The western chamber of mine.
But in-between there is simply not a thing
To make me avoid having guests
Who'd come to feel sorry for my poor soul,
But they do it for nothing, I have to tell.
When cold arrives, I burn cork for heating;
Once hunger Is at my door, I cook up
Some greens from my fields to be full up.
I’ve never learnt to be a good farmer
Or a worthy host who goes on
Expanding one’s livestock and crops.
Such a trade only breaks the way
Between good and bad, life and death,
Paradise and hell—once you get there,
Will it ever end? Hence, I’d put it this way,
“If not me entering the hell, who does?”
Be good at thinking over it with great care
Because the Underworld has no vacancy.
By thinking it thoroughly, you’ll be aware
Of your proper course in this universe.
And be it as it may, your top priority
Still remains to be the same—
Your understanding of your good self.
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