Drowsy the noonday air,
Under the trees the still shadow
Like a fugitive fragment of night
Seeks shelter from the sun.
The bird has ceased singing,
The beggar unable to bear
The wealth of the sun
Spreads his torn garment,
To find peace in
The benign shadow of sleep.
Ah, lone soul like him,
I spread this rag of my song.
Under the tree of life
Over which blazes the sun of fate.
The calm of its shadow
Protects me, but where my peace?