Up with the heart, Great Magician,
sith to the Moon there's the round!
And for wearing period dresses
they invite me bacchanals
I cut leaks into people,
even myself soaked in blood,
but to their heart I cannot see
Uglypasted, rag cupbearer
would be amble if you let,
dig at graincrops in the field,
would that also be defiled!
Chanters are walking
in murmuring
adhered on them leafcladings
If they would admire me,
they should better skedaddle,
before -‘cause of sudden shock -
they would rush against the trees!
Snarl at me along the way,
all my curses fell in dust,
and the only satisfaction
indignantly flicked away,
Flicked through my heart,
they're escaping in full flight,
so far away why they held back,
they, the passions all tonight?
Here are tiny weepings only
streaming splottings of the sky,
to throw desire to the endless!
I'm felling down my eyes…
Up with the heart, Great Magician,
sith to the Moon, there's the round!
Start the cutting leaks in people,
infuse Passion to their hearts!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem