I should look at the man for what he is,
and not for what I imagine he could be.
Because I know my fantasy could hurt me.
I am the only one I should focus on, and forget pretense.
For, if I set up in my mind what I want to have happen—
Life baffle us immortals—
—we cling on and never let go of the outcome.
But, we always seem to be able to press on
to another illusion in hope it will come to pass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem