Sun is just a yellowish stain
Stands on a colored space
of horizon
oh, what a haphazard brush!
River is just a garish chain
With some reflection on the face
of ozone
oh, what a haphazard pliers!
Grass is just a protrusion lain
On the heavy, sick clays
of a zone
oh, what a haphazard chisel!
The air, The dust, The rain
To that work, it just may
emblazon
oh, what a haphazard mind to tell!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem