Smoke Does Not Come Out
I have no time, O Death, to spare;
Do not come to summon me.
I have no time to wash
The injured head that bleeds.
Put no hindrance, my lovely girl,
To the feet of mine on the move.
No time I have to wait and watch
Your wanton, restless art.
Writhing are my countrymen
Under the want of food-
Can't you see, from the housetop vents
No smoke is coming out?
(Translated by: Madhav Lal Karmacharya)