So what if you constructed grand mansions, palaces, roofs, and gates? Alas, ruined soul, it is a tragedy that you could not make a dwelling in anyone's heart.
The poet gently dismantles our obsession with worldly ambition and grandeur. You might spend a lifetime raising soaring palaces and majestic halls, but brick and mortar can never offer the warmth of genuine belonging. If you haven't earned a small corner of love in someone's heart, all your royal splendour is an illusion—you remain, in truth, entirely homeless.
Interpretation note: meanings and explanations may be AI-assisted and should not replace a primary text or scholarly edition. See the editorial policy.
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