The highness of an object resides in its lustre,
Demanding traits are discarded, like silk.
Interiors of the organs of a body are of the corpse,
Relishing nothing for nobody, and nobody else.
Then the disease of the heart enters the calm,
Fostering new teachings for everybody, and unique too.
Let the praise of heaven be our neighbour,
Insert the eye of sheep in the dishes.
A dish is a dish, a body is a corpse
But a cadaver in secret, an excellency.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem