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)