Mind wanders all around,
It never needs a ground;
Its nature defies control,
It’s used to rock and roll.
When it finds the fertile ground,
It takes you on merry-go-round;
All impossible looks so possible,
You feel all in life is Rosabelle.
It is the apple of all discord,
It makes people draw sword;
Into abysmal hell it throws,
You bear barbaric blows.
Like cowards everyday I die,
And in infernal fire I fry;
And the parting pain we feel,
It deems life a difficult deal.
I am not mind nor mind me,
Mind plays see-saw with the sea.
Ultimately the heart consoles,
Eternal rest-house is the soul;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem