I caught sight of my Will
There on that height,
Imagining how once again
The strangness is lost out
Like missing memory.
The past is charging on like snow;
Perhaps I can only say less
Than what the heart has found
There in the depth which 'd grow.
The speed here is stricken progress,
Thwarted blossom in night;
But my heart worn out,
Wore that dream to follow
The summit, its suicidal point
A rock, a fulcrum turning to sun.
Trace the blonde soil,
Face the old age, here
Twice born secrets hide;
No one breeds contempt,
No one plays dlice to air.
The Will is final which repeats
In the soul beneath the flesh!
Who'd forgive a tresspasser
Grim with old age and palpitation,
But in affirmation of hope
Thats twining the heart
When sun's setting and snow
Is rapidly eating away the feet?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem