Classic Poem

The rains have filled the marshlands, yet the rice has not been cut; capital and interest, all are lost; only my life remains. All men, one by one, cut their rice in time, filled their barns and so gladdened their hearts. But I, luckless one, I alone was always about to cut my rice, yet remained sitting idle; and oh, Hari! the rice was not cut. In life's early spring, alas! I spent my days in play; in spring I devoted myself to the service of pleasure. Thus in vanity I have passed so long a time, and to-day in life's rains I possess nothing at all. Into this great market, the world, the money-lender sent me, giving me capital, in order that I might gain some profit; now life's rains have devoured all my rice; and far from gaining aught, I am near to losing my capital. The moneylender is harsh — how shall I explain to him? Excessive rains have ruined me, alack! A merchant am I; coming into this market of the world, I have lost both capital and interest, and I go to my own land. I know not with what face I can appear before the moneylender; I know not what Fate has written on my brow.