The voice is blooming,
Suggestive of fleeting thoughts;
Yet beauty is the order
Of strong behaviour.
My voice stagnates and gasps,
Feeding the gambolling men and apes
Whose fathers got enlisted.
To become a herd is like sheep being
Frightful. Yet thoughts are like gossamer.
Invisible pleasantness entices a good
Elixir that is for imbroglios.
Pretty voices enter the jaws of death,
Their roundness is of the spherical world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem