Is this a heart or an empty village? 

Graves, everywhere.

I weep for no one,

But whose tombstone is that,

Smooth and clear like a mirror?

Come. Look.

O God! The child of a desire, 

A bud, younger than young, 

Born a moment ago.

.

From: Yāden̲ (Remembrances), 1963. pp. 248 – 49