A Buddhist Monk Cut and Burned His Own Flesh to Make The Rains Stop — A Man From His Native Place Asked Me to Write a Poem to Send to Him

The sky extends upward for ninety thousand miles.
When it wants to be clear it is clear,
when it wants to rain it rains.
For the rain god and the sun god
it's as easy as herding sheep:
they receive their orders and carry them out;
who would presume to complain?
So what kind of man is this Buddhist monk,
daring to set up an altar with banners and drums?
With his cracking whip he stands up to Heaven
and cries out to Hsi-ho to bring back the chariot of the sun!
The immortal Chang in broad daylight flew up into the sky —
now this monk has a chance to do even better than that!
All he does is to burn a bit of incense on an inch of his flesh
and the ocean calls the clouds back to the kingdom of water.
The local alchemists are all impressed by what the monk has done,
and the magistrate gives him a piece of red silk.
But still, this man, virtuous as King Asoka,
must bear the pain with his own body
while the farmers all bow down to the Inspector of Fields.
Author of original: 
Hs├╝ Wei [or Xu Wei
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