Bliss is just a shadow only in this world,
Haunted by the freezing winter of grief.
Mind is a senile phenomenon, wandering
Everywhere seeking pleasure; a will-o’-the-wisp.
My passions plunged its face in the hornet’s nest
Of grief, and the dreams that overwhelmed in
My eyes blossomed as flowers of agony.
When truth seeks a sanctuary to lie down
On the slings and arrows of outrageous calumnies,
The humans only guffaws, masking the conscience
With sympathetic grins on their faces...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem