The one whom I thought of as a teacher
Passed deftly like the shade leaving no shadow.
He drank all the inertia, all the lethargy,
And waited himself in vain for fame.
He was his own omen, and the warning,
compassion for all, breathing torment,
Until he endlessly suffocated himself
On the nothing for which he waited.
I have learned well of his teaching,
It has become me.