I continue my dying when I’m in a paper
In this paper I change to be a sailor
I dream of paper as an ocean of life
Of nobody’s ever destiny
I close the tiny eyes of world
Of eyes of sufferings belongs three realms
Within boundless of sky and ocean
I would be a capital of myself
I would be a god of myself
I continue my dying
Until it reach to the top of suffering
Or truth of path
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem