To see him is to see like him and evil,
Many corpses are guilty of their trusts,
But terror reigns with its ugly hundred heads.
Much magnification is about to don the leaders,
My ill-defined dread is a caring folly, fought by
Fists striking the heat of war, the heart of coal.
To be mean is to be goodness, and teller of tales,
To be tender meat, tender thoughts of the brilliance
Of our stars in the cosmos of coal and fire.
To become the trend of a thousand atoms conveys
The train to the other side, but where is the eye
Joining the other eye? What do kings sear the heart of?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem