To redden the leg with a land-mine
Creates confusion with the body;
The entire landscape is already dead,
And the shrapnel lands far down.
It was beggarly, he was misleading,
And the bomb was a staring dog
Barking at me with its binoculars.
The medley of colours was not too good
To look at and observe with wit.
To redden the blackness of the head
Requires meditation and relaxation,
In this fair earth and clay of botanists.
My nickname resounds in the heavens,
With surroundings to simply care about
When the requirements are fulfilled.
Smoothness is reached, legends are staunch
In their armour and sword.
My successor needs to die one day,
And I am the real man of this way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem