The valleys cry out my name as I strife to scrabble,
I'm in-between the hills and the mountains.
I need to rise above the wavering wind and surface,
The mighty mountains are moving;
I need to budge like the zephyr and climb their zeniths,
I choose to race on the puissant fields,
I choose to fly above the moving mountains.
The lowlands bewitches me with their greens,
I'm in-between rocky routes and heightened highlands;
The lowlands call out to me charmingly,
I choose to climb my mountains with the sun in my eyes,
The hills are hurling high praises at me;
I choose to cut my fingers and bleed upon the ridges of the hills;
I choose to sweat puddles of rivers on the harrowing plains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem