Go, encant the name that hides itself-
From the void that leads both sides.
Many a man hath done so-
Many a man hath died.
All in all, a favor you must ask-
In that which always ceases to exist,
Seemingly, at the time you’re granted a task,
And parasites turn to cysts.
But now the light is seen-
In it’s artificial brightness.
And conformity is keen-
Inevitably, you will cry less.
So just as what had caused you pain,
You wander yet again-
To feel once more a stroke on mane,
You’ll never learn, my friend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem