Home without a mother
going up
Touch and caress the baby
Charcoal winds carelessly flying
Stuck in the throat

Among the dense forest trees
Along a country road with wet soil
It became a dark black place
The house is covered

Of the nightingale that never sleeps in the forest
From within like rye
Making wild noises
Orphan, an old toy
The feet are touched

Somewhere in the stream like rye
Childhood again
From beneath the Kalachakra Rath
Loud mom calls
Swallowed by the wind
The fever of yesterday
Withered
From among the weeds
Yesterday raised his head
Mocking tomorrows
Paital in the sky
Knocked at the nightmare gate
Lamentation is a lament

Inside the closed door
It is clear
An open childhood
By the blindfolded candle...