Comets come from the froth of the sea,
Righteous returns are from these designs;
So entire populations wield their heads
For the disbelief of the crowds so innocent.
The comets of this hurricane have eroded
The land with their pains and hurts,
So that the concert is denied a threat,
Ghosts of slaughter decide our paths.
May the comets of the future be where
We are as artists, the atria of our hearts.
These designs are from godly primordials
Who wed their plates with ones of fire.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem