Who has had his secret in the perishing soul?
Offering peace to the straightforward man is secretive,
I utter knowledge to the heart of the origins of men.
Why do you search for him in the dust and yellow ocean?
It is indeed slippery dutifully, it is striking a voice of noise,
With a lofty truth, a reclining belief, an independent sound.
Upon the lips an utterance forms, forcing the waves of saviours,
Seeing for yourself, like a blind hard beggar, like a fallacious mover.
The park I have visited is absent from the head and heart,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem