When the red flame disappears as a sight,
And we discover a new country that glistens,
Straight and wise become, like the illness of the day,
To crumble and die in our arms of love.
When your face hears a message from the deeps,
Layers of silk are wound along the corner of rocks,
An air is swifter and a wind breaks out to encase,
So we tremble in our delight once the ocean sinks.
Not living, not dead, we find our compass to unite our health,
So we shine forth like a lighthouse, forcing the atmosphere;
We are straightforward and kind in ourselves, like readers
Of the day and night, bastions of the learned right, the men who die.
And then danger becomes a binding tool, a swinging glue,
That death has forsaken, we died long before the golden light;
This death is silver and life is gold, but where are the elements
So cold, and too hot, when life beams on so brightly in the light?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem