The weight of the boy was solid,
Inside the soul is a complete child;
Internal worries subjugate the heart,
As more love and spirits of love enter.
This mighty gate is a blunder to cross,
There are masses and crowds of importance.
Let us bore them with song and dance
After the music of the soul has been heard.
Let them be solid and heights of hatred
Are emerging once again.
The souls of boredom and amazement
Are born in the ways of men who appear.
The wild grass is ablaze the next day,
After the heat of the crowd and the war.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem