On each flower and arena,
whose beauty is it
that rushes towards heaven?

Untasted and indescribable nectar
from infinity flows on.

That beauty rushes on
from the distant stream,
and from the bondage of time
to a realm far beyond time.

Leaving the world of forms,
it merges into formlessness.

In individual life there are rises and falls,
and many a concentration on the path of friends.

Let that beauty be eternal.
Let it cross hundreds of obstructions.