I see a pilgrim’s inconsolable distress—
His wagon’s axle has come in a clatter.
Immediately, profusely splendid and
Too much flippant the flowering around
Starts to be, too garrulous and so much
Annoying are the rooks and magpies,
Vying with each other in squabbling.
I come up and say: “This land is where
We stay for a short while, just enough
To chop off all reasons of our rebirths.
Seeking for enlightenment, try not to be
Drowning in vexations; do your best
To exhaust your karma to the very end,
With no remainders!” He asks me back:
“Where vexations come from?” I say:
“It’s sad to admit, but they come out
From our karmas’ bitter remainders--
That's all what I know in the meantime.”
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in fact, it's bad for the heart!
Blessings to you, Alexander!