I can feel in myself a monster wielding knives
and a few black curtains shielding insanity.
There dwells a murderer gloating on sufferings,
a sadistic artist at the court of China.
With bats fluttering in and out of my psyche,
does daylight ever reach the bottom of my cave
and the red, squinting eyes of a wheezy dragon?
Grab my shaky fingers, desiccated corpses:
I am but the offspring of your depravity.
Through my seed I begat another frightened child
whose heart of heart is veined with dark, death-giving blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem