As I walk along the beach of sorrow
a tiny bird flew above my morrow,
the only thing's left and done
a lone footstep marked on the ground.
As I see the sunlight drew it limits
a tiny bird sang above its own zenith,
the only thing's left and shown
a lone footstep she marked on the ground.
Ah, this tiny bird hark like an eagle,
she blew a gaggled horn unscored;
it wiggled her feathers unfurled
she spread out her even wings cold.
Now, I have only one thing to reckon,
in my own lovely world of imagination,
the only thing's left for me is gone
inside a heart's hidden comprehension!
Now, I see no more than world's frictions,
my mind travels above certain wanderings
as the desert of woes called illusions
forgone's well in my own confusions!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem