</>Carrying an oil lamp, i visited the dark hell.
My papa from the heaven told me to pay a visit
and my playful heart was propelled...
Why do I love playing? 'Cause my not-yet-grown-up soul is
still growing, havin' fun together in sufferings
yea, that's the secret i 'm telling you; the heaven still has sufferings
The prisoners, i 'd say those living in the hell prisoners, were doing puzzles!
Inching my oil lamp closer to the prisoner seemingly puzzled;
he had never finished the torturous game...
The accomplished puzzle would be a photo of his family in whole...
he was in pain with the bloody game
'cause he destroyed his own family when he lived as a human,
makin' his home full of fiery violence.
Another prisoner was sadly playing with a doll
he had been designing and sewing more than thousands dresses
for the Doll, a girl's name. On the Earth, he raped Doll.
In the hell, He had to serve the little doll.
There were many tears and regrets..
So alive there in hell were the dead.
My papa was right, the processes were to
confess; to suffer; to correct.
The hell, my papa told me, could be another heaven one day
And I secretly gave one of the prisoners a Heaven Ticket,
hoping to help these hopeless,
making the two heavens the same,
crowning the halo over their head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem