Classic Poem

If you number those who have reigned, carefree in their majesty,
those who were born to fine, equally noble families, few of them
have gained glory and the songs like a row of hundred-petaled flowers,
brightly shining colors raised by the lotus that grows out of the mud.
O many are those who have vanished like the petals of the lotus!
They whose fame poets sing, when they have finished doing
everything they must do are said to gain for themselves
a flying chariot that needs no driver to guide it through the heavens.
So I have heard it said. My lord! Cetcenni Nalankilli!
In this world where the moon god turns and turns, making
even the ignorant aware that waxing truly exists, waning
truly exists, dying truly exists as does being born
truly exist, when you see the thin waists of those men
who come to you and are suffering with no regard to whether
they have talent or are just people without talent,
may it be possible for you to be generous, and may
an inability to give, an utter lack of generosity
mark those who stand opposed
in their enmity toward you whose strength is never diminished!