Time rolls as yarn on to spindle,
pleating weeks, months, and many a season
With slew of substance upon spool,
Weaves the loom of life a florid yarn.
As past piles up and future pares,
Next stop, only the heaven's door.
Paved a prized path for re-entries,
for karma, the valid auditor!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem