"Man fills his bottle with good tidings
And lovingly calls it water.
Transparent news is sigh-like.
Bottles only return liquefied destiny.
Hence, oh man-
If the dawn of every spin
does not own the marks of tilling
After a few midnights, all the good tidings of the world will dry up."
And lovingly calls it water.
Transparent news is sigh-like.
Bottles only return liquefied destiny.
Hence, oh man-
If the dawn of every spin
does not own the marks of tilling
After a few midnights, all the good tidings of the world will dry up."
Dipangshu Acharya's poem in my attempted translation.
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