On a lonely mountain i lay
Spellbound to the blissful nature
It was the merriest of beauties to say
In it I forget my disdainful torture
Dandelions I behold as a crowd
Fluttering and flying with the breeze
With my secret spectacle I am proud
An ethereal ecstasy among the trees
The songbird sings the sweetest songs
For a poet who longs,
The eternal bliss of moments
I'm afraid I disturb the tranquility by my movements
When I leave pushed by fate
Back to the land of hate
Will I loose my faith?
For the economic bait
It was my hiding place from dear Old Nick
The elegance left behind,
Makes the world a place so sick
The significance hard to find
In the blues sky i see the songbird fly away
Maybe compelled by the same hindrance
But the memory never fades on my wry way
I fear, could the spectacle be seen through a dusty lens?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
How stark is the difference between the contemptible life we live and the beauty that is so far away from it. But sadly, the reality that remains unchanged is that contemptible life. we all keep coming back to it.