Humane thrusts are foregrounds for better men,
The enticed worlds are sounds for the better men.
Why do you differ from ruptured souls who force?
The humane gesture is the colour of compounds, of better men.
My soul is in difference, when the cherries are blossoming,
Burrowing in the surrounding mounds, we are better men.
The real man is a writer of the world and all it surrounds,
Poetry is the beast of the martyr who astounds the better men.
Why does the comfort entail a wry remark of all suddenness?
It is duty to see the ethics of a day in amends, for the better men.
This day, I see an apple growing on the very fruitful tree called Luck,
There is somewhere the bending path that ascends to better men.
My authority is like the fortunate outcome of a thousand days,
Nights are sold to the merchants, and the serfs in the badlands, these better men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem