Trying to save my love,
I take pen of my dad.
it will cut and will make
the steel spearhead of my fate.
Blade, as ruthless as death,
leaves a mark on forehead
culprits of the past loss
run as shadow on earth.
Sharpened metal, spin, twirl!
Pierces the flesh, the wide-open.
As if I torment her,
and the cut slice I chop.
Thus let my precious feather
be untouched by rust, pain,
when the welcoming insides
will take us to the vale.
translation from SST
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem