Blind to fearful faces,
the blood on hands
If only mind were slates,
able to be wiped
clear,
never to think again
Humour no longer yellow,
but pitch black
Laughter a heartless clang,
no longer a melodious song
If ever the free sun, I see again, I will
surely know that ignorance truly is bliss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem